Breath of Evil
by Rothalion
Summary: Tyson Rios finally sees the light and confronts his wife's jealousy concerning Salem after she is wantonly cruel to the young man. Rios does a lot of thinking about their sorted past.
1. Chapter 1

Authors note: This is my first venture into AoT. I found myself intrigued by the fact that Tyson had a wife or girlfriend. I have not yet read Dirty Money so if I botch the facts I apologize now. I think it will be loose enough so as not to stray horribly into an AU scenario. I am unsure of Rios' family's names so…when I get my book I will fix them. This began as a one chapter experiment but I guess it grew, so lightly edited and still in progress I suppose.

Warnings: Language! Violence

Disclaimer: I do not own the fellas, just borrowing them.

Breath of Evil

Chapter one

"Fuckin' stupid squirrel" Tyson Rios growled snatching the wheel of the big, dark blue truck hard left to avoid killing the hapless animal as it dove beneath the wheels. "Fuckin you and suicidal Elliot would get along great you god dammed flea ridden glorified rat!"

The truck veered back into the lane and Rios rammed his booted foot down on the accelerator, the double chipped engine responded with a whine and the speedometer shot up to eighty-five. Far too fast for the narrow winding road that led up to his home in the country but the man didn't care. He was on a mission and the sooner he arrived to complete it the happier he'd be. He'd spent the four hour flight from Los Angles seething about the news Alice had given him. Five days ago his wife had Elliot arrested for trespassing and violating a restraining order she'd secretly taken out on him. He pounded on the steering wheel and grit his teeth. Rios knew the man hated confinement; it was all he could do to hang out in his apartment for more than half a day at a time let alone in a cell. Five days, and from the sound of Alice's voice Tyson knew that she was not telling him the whole story.

"Fucking bitch, fucking fucking bitch!" He screamed angry beyond words. "You got ten fucking minutes left in life as you know it!"

Tyson skidded the truck to a stop in a cloud of dust and stormed for the log cabin style house. The fall wreath adorning the stained glass door did nothing to quell his anger and he slammed through it hard enough to shatter it. At the sound of breaking glass his wife stepped quickly from the kitchen drying her hands on a towel.

"Tye…" she sputtered stopping short. The man before her was not the man she'd fallen in love with and married. The man before her was a wraith, his face twisted with feral anger and his eyes glazed with years of pent up rage. This, she thought, must be how he looks in combat. This is a face that Elliot would recognize and understand. Not only from seeing it in combat but from having to confront it during the frequent battles the two men waged with one another. A familiar wave of jealousy shot through her, of course Elliot would know this version of Tyson, Elliot knew all the versions of Tyson and it galled her to admit to herself that Elliot Salem probably knew her husband far better than she did.

"You had him arrested!" Tyson screamed leaning down slightly to meet her eyes. For a woman she was tall, taller actually than Elliot. "Why? What the fuck could he possibly do to have you trespass him and arrest him? Restraining order? Restraining order that I knew about! You told him that I knew about it, you _are_ a sick bitch! God I just want to fuckin' kill you. He fuckin' hates confinement. He's still tweaked from that shit prison in Turkey and fuck you toss him right back in god damned cage."

"All he had to do was leave with the sheriffs!" She countered matching his fury. "That's all. But no, he had to show his _psychotic Salem ass_ and resist!" Her sarcasm fueled Tyson's rage.

"His Salem ass, his fuckin' what!" He shouted incredulously. "Just tell me why?"

"He was teaching your seven year old daughter how to shoot!" She screamed shrilly. "I came back from running errands and he was teaching her how to shoot that damned machine gun. He sent my mom home and took over baby-sitting, he was drinking, drunk, and they were out on the range shooting! He's insane! I don't want him here Tye. I never liked him, he's crazy you've said so yourself! You said as much just recently. You said he'd been unstable since you guys came back from Turkey!" She jabbed a finger into his broad chest, "You said every time you two come home from playing god he gets a little more unhinged, _you_ said that not me!"

"Playing god?" He snorted slapping her hand away. "What the fuck do you know about what we do? You should have called me. You had him arrested! Lied to him, made it sound like I set him up! Do you think he'd have come by if you'd told him not to! It was Saturday he was supposed to be here to go to her game with you two. You knew that and trapped him! Fuck, you ignorant bitch! He'll never trust me again."

"He's an animal!" she shouted getting right in his face. "He's not like you. He relishes the killing; he lives for the blood and gore, not like you. You're touched by it, it tears at you but Salem he just smiles his wretched smile, counts his money and prays the payout will be bigger next time."

"Animal, you called Elliot an animal. The man who fuckin' breathed life back into our daughter when she drowned in Madrid, drowned while you were fucking drunk and sucking some Spaniard's cock in his cabana, he's an animal?" Rios bellowed spittle flying into her face.

"He breathed life into her? I wish he hadn't! I'd rather she'd died then carry the stain of that monster's murderous breath in her soul! You saw what he did to Ramirez! That man did not just drown, Tye. Salem killed him for fucking me. Killed him with his bare hands and would probably kill me too, if he could, for hurting you."

Rios froze. In his fury riddled mind he could hear the argument, his wife calling Salem an animal, Salem rebutting with the drowning story, his wife…He'd put up with her infidelity, her failings as a mother her lack of understanding for what they did but this. He took a step back from her and swallowed the bile rising in his throat. Then in a voice not more than a coarse whisper he asked, "Did you tell him that you foolish bitch?"

"Yes!" She hissed wickedly. "Yes and from the look on his face I might just as well have put a bullet, from one of your bloody guns, in his gut. That's the one you die slow from right, and in pain?"

The gloating woman barley registered that Tyson was moving as the big man snatched her by the throat and slammed her into the wall. Her head thudded against the tongue and groove cedar and she fought to stay conscious. Her ears rang and her eyes faded to black before twinkling back into focus. By the look on her husband's face she was certain that his livid, scar twisted grimace would be that last sight she'd see. Tyson read her thought and laughed wickedly.

"Oh no, this is not the last sight you'll see you bitch. You hurt Elliot, nobody hurts Elliot." He squeezed tighter noting that her lips were turning slightly blue and let up. "I want you to picture this. In Madrid, when I got to the hospital he was there, you were too drunk to go. He was a wreck." She tried to turn away from the spit flying from his mouth. "Look at me!" He screamed banging her head against the wall to get her attention. "A wreck, in shock, I'd never seen him like that, so desperate, so out of control. Freezing cold 'cause he was soaking wet, trembling with fear because he still didn't know if our daughter would live and Salem only fucking loves two things in this world, her and me; galvanized with hate and anger toward you after seeing you getting your ass reamed by Ramirez when you should have been watching your child, and afraid that I'd hate him, thinking he'd failed me." He banged her head against the wall again and lifted her off the floor. "Elliot Salem broke down in tears! Salem fell into my arms and sobbed hysterically for nearly an hour! He's an animal! He sobbed because for the first time in his sad, miserable, lonely, violent existence he'd given life instead of taking it! Don't you ever pretend to know what he feels!" He screeched. "He found you fucking another man while our daughter was drowning! Yea, he killed Ramirez, and oh yea he'd wanted to kill you but he didn't because he loves me and he knew, fool that I was, that I loved you. But no more, we are finished." He growled dropping her. She crumbled to the floor gagging and trembling from fear and anger.

"You're choosing him over me, over us, your family." She gasped up at him. Rios was unmoved by the plea so she pushed the final button. "Tell me something Rios, are you top or bottom? Do you let that animal fuck you?"

Tyson's right foot snapped out and splintered the wall inches from her face. He wouldn't go out like that though, sent up for killing her. Salem would never forgive him for abandoning him, and if he was in prison who would watch out for the wayward younger man.

"You know," he began, his voice now eerily calm, "in hind sight I fucking think I chose a long, long time ago and the only thing I regret is being foolish and selfish enough to have let you in. I don't regret my daughter, but you…It's always been about Elliot, there was never a place here," he tapped his huge chest over his heart, "for you, and for that I am sorry. Faraday, my lawyer, will be in touch. If I was you I'd pack. After Madrid I learned my lesson. I have tapes; I have all your adulterous shit documented. You get nothing."

He stepped away from her and watched as she struggled to stand leaning against the wall. He had loved her. He knew that the feeling, while misplaced and foolish, had been genuine, but so much, too much had gone wrong and now she'd hurt Elliot. The pain she inflicted on him by fucking other men broke his heart but that was his pain, that he could swallow and live through; push down and forgive her for but to see Salem hurt, to feel Salem hurt and he would, that was a pain that would tear him to pieces, a pain that would drive him to kill the only person he'd ever loved aside from Elliot and his daughter.

"I'm gonna go get some things, go after Elliot and I'll have someone get And-a-half," he smiled when she winced at Salem's pet name for their daughter, "And-a-half from school. Do not follow me upstairs, you have no idea how close to dead you are and how short my fuse is right now. Then when I'm outta here, pack and haul ass. Like I said Faraday will be in touch." He shook his head at her when she started to speak. "Hell I hear its damn fine in Spain this time a year, maybe I can get Salem to pitch in for a plane ticket. Have a nice life, a real nice life and tell Douglas" She flinched hearing her newest lover's name, "I said hello and good luck."

Twenty minutes later he tossed a black duffle into the back seat of his truck and headed down the gravel driveway. The only feeling he had was worry for Salem. He felt no remorse for hurting his wife, no remorse for finally ending his marriage, no remorse for having wiled away eight years of his life in a dead end relationship. All he felt was a deep seated dread that this time might be the time he couldn't reel Elliot back in and that in the end his wife would win by default, successfully tearing Salem away from him after all. Shutting out the idea of defeat he dialed Alice.

"Talk to me." He ordered his voice strained. "Damn I'm not wearing my fucking seat belt!"

"Are you ok?" She asked as always concerned for his well-being. "Is your wife…is she breathing, Rios?"

"I think she's planning a vacation to Spain. Salem…" she gasped and he slapped himself, "Shit, no Alice not with, like Ramirez, just never mind, Salem?"

She let out the breath she was holding, and crossed getting Rios a good defense lawyer off her to do list. "Not good. Seems he did some major damage to your local sheriff squad. Two still in hospital, two treated and released, squad car pretty much destroyed, bail's set at seventy-five grand, and the best part,"

"There's a best part?"

"Yea, they have him in Hubbard, in isolation, in the psyche ward; apparently he just won't calm down, won't cooperate, he's giving them hell, Rios and,"

"There's an and?"

"Yes again, and even if he could make bail, which we are talking Salem here and he probably doesn't have seventy five cents to his name let alone the seventy-five hundred dollars and collateral to back seventy-five grand, they won't cut him loose until he sees a shrink and you know and I know _that_ is not going to happen; so I am open to suggestions."

Rios groaned. "Fucking Salem." He muttered. "Alice just call a bondsman, and get me an address, I'm going to Hubbard, see if I can visit him. He thinks I set him up, that's why he didn't call us, thinks…fuckin' Christ I can't imagine what he's thinking. Since Turkey he's been spinning outta control on me. I think I might turn around and end that bitch after all. Yea, do that and call me back."

"And the bail Rios?"

"Salem's worth seventy-five grand Alice, I'll cover it. It's not like he'd haul ass, not if I order him not to." Rios sighed flipped his left turn signal on, changed lanes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna get him out, find a sitter for And-a-half then me and El are going to ground for a while, so scratch us off the books."

"And the shrink?"

"Same, I say he's gonna see one then he's gonna see one! I mean fuck, who's in charge here! I have another call to make so get on the bondsman and let me know pronto. Oh and can you pick And-a-half up from school?"

"Yes and keep her while your away so no worries, Rios."

He snapped the phone shut reopened it and hit Faraday's speed dial number.

"Faraday, Rios here, file it."

The lawyer sighed and settled back into his chair. "You sure, she's going to want full custody."

"She gets nothing, and I mean nothing Far. Use the P.I.'s stuff, all of it. Go at her full bore. She hurt Elliot. Nobody does that, no- fucking- body."

Before Faraday could respond Alice beeped in and Rios answered the incoming call. Glad in a way for the interruption, it removed any slight chance he'd change his mind. He noted the address and prepared himself for seeing Salem.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two of: Breath of Evil.

Rios does a bit of reminiscing while waiting to see Elliot in jail. Some names are taken from the comics, the dates are as close to cannon as I can figure, but a bit of AU is probably there. I don't own them I just like playing with them.

F.O.B SOMEWHERE IN NORTH AFRICA 1993

"Rios!"

The big man looked up from the M416 rifle he was cleaning and squinted into the mid- morning, dust flecked sunshine at the pair of men approaching him.

"Yea, Sarge?"

"Come'ere."

Staff -Sergeant Tyson Rios tossed the cleaning rag aside, covered the disassembled weapon with a towel, stood and met the two men several paces in front of the shade shrouded table; making no effort to disguise that the interruption and trek into the glare of the scorching African sun annoyed him.

"Loose the scowl, Rios. Meet Corporal Elliot Salem, he's down outta Ramstein, did time with UN troops up that way; mostly covert shit, he can fill you in."

"So?" Rios asked swiping his forearm across the sweat beading on his forehead.

"He's yours, enjoy."

"Mine? What am I supposed to do with the little ass bitch?"

"Yours, Tanglewood's replacement; your call how to use him. Spotter or shooter; don't matter by me; work it out between yourselves. He comes well recommended. Captain Freemont, remember him, he thought he'd be a good fit for you. Apparently the boy's damn good."

"Bit green for damn good," Rios noted, studying the unkempt new man with concern, "and there is the _small _part to consider, Sarge." he said snickering derisively.

By his estimation Sgt. Rios figured that Corporal Elliot Salem stood five feet-eleven inches tall and that was being generous, weighed no more than one-hundred and thirty-five pounds, maybe one-ninety soaking wet and loaded with gear and was not older than twenty-two at best. Time would thicken him up a bit but nothing would ever catch him up to Rios' six foot- three inch, two-hundred and eighty-five pound bulk. By far that made Corporal Elliot Salem the youngest, smallest, lowest ranking man on the close knit team.

"He's young, he'll grow and besides he just spent five weeks cut off, flyin' solo behind Serbian lines; starvin' what little bitch ass he had off. Then they patched him up and packed him straight here. Fuck, I'm not even sure they let the poor bastard shower. Get him squared away. Show him the infirmary first; he's got appointments, then the chow hall. Feed him six times a day if you need to; just bring him online fast. We still go in eight weeks and that ain't much time for you to integrate him with the team let alone for you two to mesh."

Rios squared his shoulders and locked eyes with Salem. Oddly the young man hadn't moved a muscle. He just stood there; full pack lodged squarely on his ridged back, one heavy duffle slung on his left shoulder, a second in his left hand and three rifle cases in his right. The well-worn gear, too well worn for a man Salem's age, confused Rios and he crunched numbers in his head. Three years active tops if he came in at eighteen; he figured for Basic training, Advanced Individual Training, Ranger school, Sniper school yet despite the amount of time spent just training the young man had obviously seen a great deal of time operational.

Struck by Salem's stillness Rios took time to really study the boy's face. The weariness etched there told a tale of great struggle. The man's sunken eyes were glazed, red rimmed and framed in dark circles. He was not just thin, size wise, but on further inspection malnourished thin. His filthy uniform hung loose, accentuating his weight loss. The harsh, Northern European, winter had severely chaffed what little of his high cheek bones his shaggy, tawny hued beard didn't cover and the left bore a nasty two inch long gash that butterfly bandages and about forty tiny stitches tacked together just below his still puffy eye. Corporal Salem's nose had been broken at some point in his life, and his unsmiling lips, tucked beneath an untrimmed moustache were parched and painfully cracked. Rios squinted at the young soldier, blinked and looked away from Salem's exhausted yet defiant hazel eyes as the light breeze blew the kid's unkempt honey colored bangs over them despite the thread bare soft cap he wore backwards.

"Look Benedict," Rios began, trying to appeal to First Sergeant Gabriel Benedict as a friend and not a superior, "I mean, I just don't see _him_," he pointed at Salem, "draggin' _my_ ass to cover or yankin' me up a wall; fuck, Gabe. You honestly expect me to_ mesh_ with…that? With him. He's…the hell with what Freemont thinks! That sorry bastard hated me. He's probably just trying to get my ass capped. Damn it, Benedict, I can tote the little bitch in my rucksack. Gabe, I'll train Mendelssohn?"

"Mendelssohn couldn't shoot himself in the face. Eight weeks, Rios. No, six really, docs in Germany figure it'll be at least two before he can train hard. Here, these are his feeding instructions."

"Feeding instructions?" Rios spat out incredulously, snatching the large manila envelope from Benedict with his huge hand. "Does this shit storm get any fuckin' better, Gabe?"

Benedict ignored the question. "Yea, his feeding instructions, Sgt. Rios. It seems he's less than happy about following them so see that he does. You're his new commander, you're his new partner, so see to it he gets healthy and unlike your last shooter, try and keep him that way." Benedict sniped turning to leave.

Rios bristled at the accusatory remark, but before he could protest Benedict stopped and faced him again.

"And Sgt. Rios, do not call me Benedict or Gabe in front of new men. Show some respect, son. Oh and about _respec_t, you see the little ass bitch's uniform?" He pointed at Salem's bedraggled clothes. "He is a Ranger, Rios. He is a sniper, Rios. He is now one of us, so treat him accordingly. Have a glorious day gentlemen."

Rios watched Benedict walk away then turned to Salem. "You; don't fuckin' move. Five years under Benedict and never, not one time has he ever reprimanded me, so fuck you."

For a moment he stared at the man before him. When Salem made no move Rios returned to the table sat down and lackadaisically continued to clean and carefully reassemble his weapon. Now and then he'd sneak a peek at the new man but saw only the same stubborn stillness. The big ranger knew Salem had to be hurting but his annoyance with him out weighed his concern. Finally the task complete he stood and walked back to him.

"Follow me." He ordered brusquely.

As they walked Rios listened to the sound of Salem's feet crunching on the gravel path in lock step with his own. He'd stepped off at a quick pace to see if the corporal could keep up; that he could, in his condition, surprised Rios. They finally reached the barracks and Rios led Salem up a flight of stairs, down a long hall before unlocking the door of a dingy two man room. He stepped in and aside, motioned for Salem to enter and tossed his keys onto a desk amidst scattered papers.

"Me, you." He spat pointing first at the lower bunk then to the un-made top bunk. "You, me." He continued, pointing at the two large lockers taking up the wall across from the bunks. Finally he looked at the desks, "That should be fuckin' obvious. Stow that filthy shit and I'll show you round. And remove that sorry excuse of a soft cap when you're inside."

Corporal Salem obediently took the cap off and shoved it into a torn cargo pocket. Then he opened the locker pushed the duffle bags in, unslung the heavy pack and started digging around in a pocket. He drew out a heavy duty padlock, took a key from yet another pocket, crammed the pack in on top of the duffels and slammed the doors shut. He hooked the lock through the rung and smacked it home with the palm of his left hand. Then sighing he faced Rios and slapped the cap back onto his head, bill to the front.

"So, Sgt. Tyson Rios, what happened to your last shooter?" he asked, his voice laced with controlled malice. "What's his name, Tanglesdead, Tanglesfucked; what was it?"

Rios eyed the smaller man warily. Could it be that Salem simply had not wanted a confrontation while loaded down with gear? Was he baiting him? If he was then the man was probably as crazy as he was skinny and exhausted.

"Shooter became the shot, lost his head." Rios replied tersely. "Like you might lose yours, you don't take that fucking hat off."

"Hmph."

Salem crossed his weary, bloodshot eyes looking up at the hat, grunted and smiled for the first time, splitting his weather tattered lips. He licked away the seeping blood, dabbed at them with the back of his left hand and shook his head.

"Go figure. Dumb fucker must've really worked at dying." He sneered; taking off his cap and running his left hand back through the mop of dirty, unruly hair before slapping it unceremoniously back onto his head, once again backwards. "Shit with a big ass fucker like you coverin' him an all; dyin' must've been plain hard to manage. But hey, Tyse, I can call you Tyse, right? Imagine my dumb luck. Seein' as you're a big ass fucker it means a little ass bitch like me ought a be god damned incredibly safe around you!"

He picked up his weapons bags, stepped past a stunned Rios, patted him on his thick shoulder and paused in the doorway leaning nonchalantly against the frame.

"As a matter of fact, Sgt. Rios, Tyse, I'm really glad I can simplify your life. I mean I'm thinkin' you got a real sweet deal here, buddy. Shit, Sarge, just my tiny little bitch ass six to cover and hell if you carry me in your ruck, fuck I'll have _yours_ all kinds a secured. Wanna shake on it?" He finished holding out his hand while licking away more of the blood seeping from his lower lip. "No?" he asked shrugging, "Well maybe later. Anyway, it's tour time, Tubby." He quipped joyfully. "Arms Room first, then I guess we check out the docs and my feeding instructions."

HUBBARD CORRECTIONAL FACILITY NORTH GEORGIA 2008

"…Rios, Mr. Rios?"

Tyson pushed the memory of meeting Elliot aside and looked up at the diminutive female corrections officer. Fifteen years had slipped by but he recalled the meeting more vividly than many other more important bits of his life. The memory was so strong that he even recalled how the filthy battered man had smelled. An odd mix of body odor and dust, mixed with old blood.

"Yea." He grunted, cracking his neck and standing up.

"They're bringing him up shortly. I'll take you back to the interrogation room now."

Tyson sighed and nodded. It had been difficult to gain access to Salem. They'd stretched rules, pulled in favors and begged; but in what Tyson hoped would be a few minutes, after waiting for six hours, he was going to see Elliot face to face and not just on a video screen.

"Follow me." She said.

Tyson chuckled and she stopped and glared at him.

"Problem?" she spat looking up at him her hand on her side arm.

"No Lieutenant," he assured her. "Just, well a bit of old history repeating itself. After you please."

She led him down a maze of hallways with heavy doors slamming at intervals behind them. Tyson tried to shut down the part of his mind mapping out an egress route should they need it. But as he'd learned long ago old habits were impossible to cast away.

"Right in here, Mr. Rios."

Tyson sidled into the small room. Three of the walls were glass from the ceiling to about three feet above the floor, a battered grey table sat in the center flanked by two equally tattered chairs and cameras patrolled from all four corners of the space.

Tyson pulled out a chair and slid into it. He drove the heels of his hands into his eyes trying to push away another vivid memory. One of him finding Elliot, naked, chained and battered in a similar room in Turkey just three month ago. It was Turkey that had started the younger man spinning out of control again. Just as always the slide began with night time visits to Tyson's home, in a panic; followed by Tyson trying to stay close to Elliot day and night, a task his wife, Samantha hated, then escalating into drinking and overall manic behavior. This time it had come to a screeching halt here in Hubbard. The sound of voices distracted him and looking up he saw two guards leading Elliot down the hallway and toward the room.

The door lock clicked, slid back and they herded Elliot, shackled hand and foot, toward the second chair. The guards pushed him into it and stepping back flanked the door. Tyson catalogued the pair; weapons, training, positions and looked tiredly across at Salem. Then together, as if linked somehow, they whispered 'thirty seconds'. The time it would take them to eliminate the guards in needed. Tyson would have laughed if Elliot didn't look so horrible.

"Ellie" Was all the big brute of a soldier could manage his voice brusque with sadness and guilt.

Salem still looked banged up. Swelling nearly closed his left eye, dark purple and green bruising framed the right. A deep gash traversed his nose and his lips were split and dry. What scared Tyson the most though was the lack of the fiery glint Elliot's hazel eyes seemed to possess despite any hardship. The same glint that Tyson had grown to love even though it had gotten the two into trouble more times than he could count.

"Leave my sorry little bitch ass here, Tyse."

Rios reached out and squeezed Elliot's shackled hands in his. 'Little bitch ass', the phrase broke his heart. Elliot had turned out to be anything but a sorry little ass bitch and Rios flashed back to the many fights the younger man had fought to disprove the cruel title.

"No can do, buddy."

"Figured as much. Not like you to leave a man to die."

"Farriday's got it covered."

"Hate that sick bastard, Freemont." Salem mumbled.

Tyson cringed. "Not Freemont, Ellie, Farrriday." He reassured him.

"Monte was a turn coat in the end. Only good thing, well for me anyway, was hookin' us up."

"Yea, good for me too. But listen Salem; you see this doctor, psych type a fellow, name's O'Dell and he cuts you lose in my custody."

"Not talkin' to no shrink."

Tyson relaxed slightly, the defiant glint sparked in Elliot's eyes again if only briefly. But Rios was tired, frightened, and angry. He squeezed Salem's hands harder, leaned in closer and took his battered face in his huge paws. The guards bristled and Tyson snapped at them.

"Back the fuck off. If I want, I will neutralize the both of you toy store cops in thirty seconds flat."

Then he focused back on Elliot.

"Salem I'm in charge, I've always been in charge, and I always will be in charge. You will see O'Dell, you will play nice and I will take you out of here today."

Tears welled in Elliot's eyes and Tyson paused. He didn't know what caused the tears. It might be the pain in Elliot's face, or talking to O'Dell and what memories that might dredge up or both.

"Then I evac your ass and me and you, me and you alone; we go to ground for a while. We rest. We just pick up and go anywhere you want to go and rest."

Salem reached up; grasped Tyson's forearms nodded slowly then rested his forehead against Rios'.

"I promise I'll play nice. Promise."


	3. The Road To Release

Ok I'm jumping back to "Breath of Evil". I guess this is turning out to be a long work. I'm going to try and play with parallel story lines simply because I need to master the method so bear with me. Rios is going to take custody once again of an ailing Salem after reflecting on their early days.

Disclaimer: I do not own them! Carter is mine.

Warnings: We'll see how it goes. Language.

F.O.B. Somewhere in North Africa 1993

"Rios! What the fuck are you doing in here?" First Sergeant Gabe Benedict hollered over the din in the post bar.

Rios spun round, chugged what remained of his fifth beer and prepared for his second dressing down of the day. If Gabe sent him to the brig he'd at least be drunk.

"Waiting for them to finish the newbie's checkup, why?"

"Why?" Benedict snapped. "Guido, set me up, Scotch! Why? Because your last orders, orders from me; were to keep eyes on him. Pretty god damned hard to do from here wouldn't you say. Thanks, Guido."

"Sarge, they said they had stuff to do, said he'd probably be overnight."

"Yea Rios, then get your fat ass over there and take your fuckin' teddy bear because that's where you will be overnight. Dismissed."

Twenty minutes later Tyson Rios slogged into the infirmary. 'Fuckin little ass bitch, newbie, green bastard, mother fucker.' He thought to himself leaning on the counter and glaring at the private running reception.

"Help you?" The rat faced, red haired private asked without looking up.

"New guy, twenty something, filthy, priority, came in a couple a hours ago."

"Name?"

"Name? I don't know his fuckin' name. Just look it up and send me to his bed."

The private looked up and paled a bit when he realized Rios could probably snap his neck with two fingers. He hated dealing with these killer types. It made his job a nightmare. All the squads stationed at the F.O.B. were either semi psychotic private military contractor types or well trained, and in his opinion, governmentally brainwashed killing machines. He'd signed up to go to college, not be murdered by an angry, drunk lunatic for not getting a name right.

"Salem, maybe? Corporal Elliot Salem?" he sputtered.

Tyson pondered the name. "That might just be it. Skinny, sent down from Ram…"

"Bed twelve. They're prepping him for surgery, so hurry."

Tyson stepped off in the direction ordered, brushing past orderlies and garnering glares. His annoyed countenance was a frightening one and most folks steered clear when they saw him coming. He arrived at the number twelve cubical, pushed through the slightly ajar door and stopped short. Salem, supported by a corpsman, was hobbling back toward his bed after showering, with only a towel wrapped round his waist. He was emaciated, black and blue and the antithesis of the brash soldier Rios dropped off earlier. The corpsman looked up at the intruder and snapped at him.

"State your business here."

Tyson nodded toward Salem who had perched on the edge of the bed. "Partner, checking up on him."

"Right, little late. You dumped the kid here and bailed you s.o.b." He scolded before turning to Salem. "You want the ass hole gone; you give me the nod, Elliot."

Salem looked over the corpsman's shoulder and studied Rios. Once they'd settled him in a real bed, his adrenalin high crashed leaving him wiped out but astute enough to see that the big bastard was genuinely shocked by his actual condition.

"No, he's ok. Don't want Top ridin' his ass. I'm saving it for me." He replied; his tired eyed locked on Tyson's and his voice a coarse whisper.

"Sit." The corpsman ordered.

Rios obeyed then watched the man work on Salem. He wrapped a hospital gown around the man's shoulders then settled him back against the ample pile of pillows. Then he brushed a huge hand back through Salem's wayward bangs.

"Top Bene might make you trim this mop a bit." He said gently, his deep southern, African American drawl making the soothing words sound incredibly comforting. "Ok now Elliot, I have ointment for this chaffing on you face and lips. I know it hurt to trim your beard but we needed to. Just lean back, there you go buddy, relax and let good ole corpsman Sullivan do his thing."

Salem did and Rios watched the big sergeant delicately apply the ointment to the new man's weather battered face. Then he re-hooked Salem's I.V., blood pressure cuff and oxiometer.

"You look cold, you wanna a warm blanket?" Sullivan asked.

"That would be great, thanks."

"Ok, I'll be right back, doc Vickery will be right in." Sullivan said, then shot a nasty look Rios' way and left.

A few moments later a civilian doctor entered with a nurse. He smiled down at Elliot, gave her instructions then crossed to Rios.

"Benedict said you'd be coming over. Doctor Vickery. Rios, right?" he said extending his hand.

Rios shook it cringing a little at the softness of it. He supposed doctors didn't need monster sized, calloused hands like a soldiers.

"Yea, Rios. What's his status? I need him up and 100% operational in eight weeks, but he looks pretty damn wasted to me. The desk jockey said something about surgery?"

Vickery took Tyson by the elbow and led him from the small room.

"He's beat to shit. About sixty pounds under weight. I sent his diet over to Sgt. Hill at the chow hall. When you take him to eat, and you'll have to drag him his appetite's zip from starving for so long, tell them and they'll get his special food. He has a nasty wound to his right calf and ankle. Said he stumbled into some kind of animal trap, chewed him up pretty good. That's the surgery. I have to go in and deep clean it, deal with a few small fractures to his tibia and fibula and re-suture it. He stitched it in the field and did a good job cleaning it but…He has that gash to his cheek, which again he did a fair job with but I'm going to work on it some to minimize the scaring. He's still a kid really. He doesn't need to start life with a mangled up face. Dehydrated, exhausted, four and a half weeks living off the land, in freezing temperatures in a high stress situation; it's a lot for any man but this kid…I'm amazed he survived the team getting wiped out and losing his shooter; but then he manages to stay in contact and complete his mission. He single handedly called in coordinates for four and a half weeks, covering a one-hundred and seventy-five square mile area to destroy something like sixty plus mortar and big bore gun emplacements that were raining a constant barrage down on the south east side of Sarajevo. First semblance of calm they'd had in forever. The other team, intact, wasn't that successful. Kid's a tough cookie. You should be glad to have him for your new partner. Anyway I'll keep him maybe three days. He's working on a bout of pneumonia too, so I need to hit him with antibiotics. Then he can start light training anything that won't tear his sutures."

"The fractures?" Rios asked.

"I'll probably be able to handle them with a surgical sort of super glue. Won't take long to be up and running."

"Right. Well I guess I'm bunking here for the night, Benedict wants me to babysit. I'll just grab a chair."

"Sounds like you don't like him?"

"I don't know. He just so god damned small, doc. Worries me. Has an attitude to. I was shocked as shit when I saw him in there. Fuck, I'd have maybe been nicer to him if he'd given me some damn clue that he was so bad off. He just acted, looked tired as hell. I feel like shit."

"Tell him that, not me, Rios. He'll be in surgery a couple of hours see you then."

Hubbard Correctional Facility 2008

Rios stood up and started pacing again. He figured he'd logged about forty miles traveling back and forth across Hubbard's lobby. How long could it possible take to let somebody out of jail? He knew that Salem had seen Dr. O'Dell. He knew they were out processing him yet four hours later, still no Salem. He stopped, crossed to the desk, leaned down and called the officer though the little voice box.

"Any word, Dorethea?"

"No." She snapped back, tossing a file aside. "For the hundredth time, you- just- have- to -wait. It is a process. Processes take time."

"Time." He glared at the fat woman. Her breasts were so large they actually rested on her computer's key board when she leaned forward. "Time. It didn't take me this fucking long to get him out of jail in Samoa! Time, what the fuck?"

"Sir, I suggest you take a seat or your buddy, once he is out, will be waiting out here for you."

"Do not threaten me, you maroon haired…"

"Problem, Dorethea?" The male officer behind the partition with her asked, after hanging up the phone.

"No, no problem here, Nick." Rios cut in. "Just hate when you give a woman a little authority and it goes to their rather large and bovine like head. Time."

Disgusted Rios returned to his seat folded and refolded the sweatshirt he'd grabbed for Elliot.

"Not exactly efficient are they." The man sitting next to Rios said.

"No." He snapped. "Sorry, been a long, long day. I guess this is our tax dollars at work."

"Names Carter. Trying to get my sorry ass old man out. They need to privatize this shit. Run a whole hell of a lot smoother if you ask me."

Rios burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. Privatization isn't that how Elliot and him had gotten so hopelessly tangled up in the game of war and judgment. Privatization the answer to all man's woes.

"Something funny?" Carter asked sitting up a bit straighter.

"No, no man just; well you heard me say I had to get him out of jail in Samoa."

"Yea."

"Well let's just say, Samoa, Greece, Spain twice; he's never been good at visiting Spain. Italy, they were not friendly, but he was out quicker than this. Ah, California, Texas, Mexico, Peru, oh he spent a fucking month in Peru. I couldn't find him. He was out quick but they forgot they had him. Lost him, I was freaking out." Rios refolded the sweatshirt again.

"Christ, I thought my old man was habitual." Carter said sitting up and looking hard at Rios. "How the fuck do you go to jail in so many places? Some kind a sicko vacation club; see how many jails you can get locked down in, in a year, like frequent prisoner miles or some such shit, fuck."

Again Rios laughed; a genuine belly laugh and he felt better for it. Carter looked about twenty one, the same age Salem was in Somalia, back before their introduction to privatization. The kid had hard hands, construction work of some sort and he apparently cared for his father.

"Privatization, Carter, privatization sending us all over the world for the good of the common man. What do you do for work?"

"Iron worker. Union's weak as shit here though and I ain't no fuckin rat. I'd rather starve first, so I scrape by roofing and side shit when I can get it. Used to live in Vegas. It was cranking out there, killer money, but the old man fell hard off the wagon a year ago, my ma left him and no one else will tolerate his shit. So I came home to take care of him. Things'll pick up, always do."

"You like guns, Carter?" Rios asked knowing full well that if kid signed on he might just be signing his death sentence.

"Guns?"

"Big guns, small guns, automatic guns, grenades; you know your average items of death, mayhem and destruction."

"Did four years active Army, combat engineer. Two tours in Iraq, mayhems good."

"Yea, when you're twenty- two."

"Six, I'm twenty -six."

"Elliot was Twenty-two when we met. He'd just spent a month creeping around behind enemy lines outside Sarajevo alone, calling in airstrikes. Wasn't' supposed to go down the way it did. An ambush wiped out his team leaving him cut off, but he continued with his mission. Twenty- two, just a fucking kid."

"He go to jail there?"

Rios chuckled. "No, not as far as I know. Anyway back to privatization, Carter. I'm Tyson Rios. I co-own Trans World Operations. We're a private military group. We provide security, intelligence retrieval, hostage extraction; kidnapping is a worldwide plague, most anything that's not too awfully dirty all over the world"

"And?"

"And you can make triple what you've ever made. You'll be close to home for the first year or so, training, so you can still watch your pop. We need good men. Men who'd rather starve then be a rat. Here's my card. Think it through, Carter. We fly off the grid. It gets shitty and no one's coming for you if I can't get to you. Men die, Carter. Salem just spent over a month in a hellish Turkish prison, no fault, well maybe just a little of his own. It took me a month to get him and the hostages out. This isn't the Army, there are no rules of engagment but when a mission goes well, the rewards are good, financially and well hopefully morally. We try and help folks."

Carter took the card and stared at it. Triple, with that he could place his father in a real program, get them a nice place try and give the old man back for all the good times before the drinking. The door across the room swung open and men streamed out.

"Look," Rios said, standing when he saw Elliot. "I'm gonna be away with Salem for a bit. Think it through then just go in and tell Alice I sent you. We'll be in touch if you decide to play. Good luck. I hope, I guess, recruiting for this kind of work is a double edged sword, to see you."

Carter watched Rios cross to Salem. The man he tightly embraced did not look like a man who'd done time in prisons all over the world. He looked haggard and beaten down. What struck Carter though was how Salem gave his weight to Rios. When Rios wrapped him in his arms Salem melted into them. He rested his head against the bigger man's shoulder and closed his eyes. Then Rios gently pulled off Salem's bloodied tee shirt, slid the heavy sweatshirt over his head and patted it against his chest. Carter sighed and stood to meet his father. How long had it been since someone had held him like that? Not since Iraq when his squad lost three men. His squad leader had held him like that. If joining T.W.O could get him that camaraderie and save his father then that's what he'd do.

He crossed to Rios and Salem and stuck out his hand.

"I'll be there."

Rios turned and sighed. "Elliot, this is Carter, he'll be joining us. Carter, Elliot Salem."

"Pleasure." Elliot said flatly.

"Likewise, and I won't let you down."

Note: I'm going to hold this chapter here. Just seems comfortable. Carter is an O.C. on the fly visitor, the character just popped in. He just felt comfortable so I'll play with him a bit. Hopefully more stuff tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4 The Birth of Brotherhood

Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own them though at times I wish I did, they have so much uncharted depth…

Hubbard Correctional Facility 2008

Rios bundled Elliot into the truck and headed out of Hubbard's parking lot. The tired man sat slumped against the door staring blankly out of the window. Just as Gabe Benedict had predicted, back in Somalia, time had bulked Elliot up a bit but Rios' sweatshirt still swallowed his smaller frame. Once again drawn back in time, as he navigated through the thick traffic en-route to Salem's apartment, he recalled guiltily that some of that bulk and lack of it had come with a high cost. Much of that cost had been directly Rios' fault. His disdain for Elliot had rubbed off on the rest of their ten man squad, forcing Salem to fight a bitter, painful battle for acceptance, despite his skills as a soldier.

Mogadishu 1993

Salem hunkered down behind the minimal cover and listened to Rios arguing over the radio with Benedict. Aside from problems being the accepted by the men, his recovery had gone smoothly and now eight weeks after arriving in Africa he was, pinned down, under fire in the wreck of a building in a Mogadishu slum, in the dark on his first mission with his new team. The operation wasn't a total loss yet but the situation was deteriorating quickly. For the fifth time he heard Benedict holler that he needed a defensive sniper position set up to his east at three o-clock. The problem was that the stairs were blown and Rios refused to trust Salem to step jump him a second time, after the smaller soldier dropped him on the first attempt, stranding the pair on a floor too low and facing too far westerly to set up a good hide.

During a break in the radio chatter Salem tried once again to get through to Rios.

"Look man, just listen to me." He pleaded. "If you don't trust me to pull you up, then I'll send you up first. Then you yank my little bitch ass up. Bene needs this support, Sarge, and he needs it now."

"Shut the fuck up and let me think!" Rios screamed over a fulsaid of fifty cal. Rounds.

Then, over the radio, word came that Cooper and Fry were separated, under heavy fire and unable to cross the kill zone between the objective and good cover.

"They're getting picked the fuck apart over there, Rios and I'll be damned if you're gonna lay that blame on me. You think. I'm getting to higher ground one fuckin' way or the other."

Salem took off dodging and sliding back toward the wall the pair needed to scale to gain elevation. Rios cursed and sprinted after him.

"If your green ass is so fuckin' smart then let's do it, Kermit. Boost me."

Salem squatted, leaned into the wall for support, set his hands and nodded. Rios stepped into them and Salem straightened lifting the larger man up just enough that he could get a hand hold on some shredded rebar and pull himself onto the landing. Rios turned, lay down and extended his hand to Salem.

They set up and were sniping targets within three minutes. With Rios spotting and Salem firing, the new pair efficiently cleared the way allowing Fry and Cooper to complete the mission. The squad fought off intermittent skirmishes through the rubble but made the extraction point in good time. Despite the success the trip back to the F.O.B. was tense. Rios' anger with Salem had not abated but conversely rose. The idea that the younger man's judgment call saved the mission galled him. He scolded Salem, in front of the team, for what he'd seen as disobeying orders. He'd ordered the corporal to hold his position and Elliot had ignored him. Rios was the backbone of the squad. The men invariably followed Rios' lead and despite his success they vilified Salem, blaming the entire debacle on his inability to step jump Rios the first time. Benedict, trying to thread a line between dictating respect and allowing Salem to further prove his worth, remained silent. A decision he'd soon regret.

Salem held his peace in the chopper but once they landed, cleaned and stowed the gear he figured he could defend himself. They'd left him alone cleaning weapons, they'd excluded him during debriefing, no one even had asked if he'd been injured; and he had been while shoving Rios clear as they grabbed for cover behind a truck. A shot to his right shoulder blade, medium caliber, had knocked him down, taken his wind and left a painful bruise, maybe a fracture; yet no one expressed any concern for his condition. Saddened, angry and needing to relax he headed for the base recreation center. He was not surprised to see the squad there, already seated at their usual table, drinking in celebration. He skirted them and headed straight for the bar. He order a Budweiser and a bottle of Stoli. They were off duty for the next three days and he was determined to put his pain to rest. He might be young but he had years of experience drinking away pain.

So Salem sat alone, dejected, hurting and angry, slamming shots of Stoli and washing them down with beer. Every so often the squad would erupt in laughter and he fought down the idea that they were laughing at him. He'd have just drunk himself stupid and crawled back to his bunk but an odd crew of PMC's slunk in around him. Rios saw the men herd Salem toward a table and actually worried over the turn of events for a moment.

"You gonna let that fly, Rios?" Gabe had asked him.

"Why the fuck not? He's a 'big boy' right." The sarcasm was not lost to the team and the raucous laughter it inspired was not lost to Salem's ears.

"They talk a good game. You might lose him to them. Think about it. See you tomorrow."

"Good riddance."

The P.M.C.s had talked a good game, as Rios found out later. Word of Salem's good call and fine shooting had traveled fast. They'd talked, cajoled and congratulated his partner's good soldiering, trying to get Salem to jump the Army and go private. Finally after more drinking and Elliot's continual defense of the Army and his squad, despite their lack of respect, the privateers pounced and the young soldier fought fiercely to defend his team's honor while they sat watching unfazed.

For a smaller man Salem fought with the ferocity of a berserker wolverine. He took out two of the huge PMC's quickly and had slowed a third before the leader called off his minions and entered the fight himself. Rios sat watching, unmoved. As far as he was concerned the brawl was Salem's fault. He only slightly worried that Benedict might somehow find him at fault. No one on the team made an effort to help their new team mate. The leader, a huge Russian named Vasily, had little to battle by the time the others had fallen. By then Salem was a mess.

"Why do you fight?" He'd screamed down at a kneeling Elliot. "For them?" He snatched Salem's head up by his hair and violently spun him round to face the gloating team. "You fight for them? They care nothing for you, little man, nothing. Stay down! Look at them! Earlier you save them, now they sit and watch me snap your little neck like a chicken's. But you are no chicken are you, little man?"

"My team." Rios heard Salem gasp out. "My men."

Vasily laughed. Then he drove his knee repeatedly into Salem's face.

Salem somehow wriggled free for a moment but the Russian took him down again and held him facing the squad in a thumb locked, arm bar.

"See them! Join us. We'd have your back! Fuck those weak American, USA Army fucks. Join…"

The door to the center slammed open and military police filed in with weapons drawn, along with Benedict.

"Let him go, Vasily!"

"Ah, Gabriel Benedict. And why would Vasily Tyannikov do that? This one," he said turning Salem's wrist slightly and increasing the agony of the joint lock. "This one, if not _with_ me, would be a trying enemy."

Gabe nodded and the M.P.s and they chambered rounds. "Let him go."

Vasily sighed and pressed his knee into Salem's back forcing him to look up into his eyes.

"Me or them who hate you, who deny your worth? Choose, my vicious Little Bear."

"Fuck you." Salem spat through bloodied lips. "My team, my team…"

"A waste, Benedict, a real waste." Then he twisted Salem's wrist around another thirty degrees.

Rios heard the bones and tendons snapping. He heard Salem screaming in agony. He watched Vasily Tyannikov draw his side arm and place the Marakov's muzzle against Salem's temple after the young man crumbled to the floor and he made no move to help him. The big Russian drew back the hammer, looked up and studied the M.P.s then back down at Salem.

"Let me do you this favor, brother. Let me end your pain, and this deceit now."

Then he watched Vasily angle Salem's head upward so they could make eye contact and heard the words he often prayed he could but would never forget.

"No, my partner, my Rios, fat fucker needs me."

Vasily laughed, fired a shot into the ceiling, turned and mule kicked Salem in the back driving him face first into the filthy floor then left.

Georgia 2008

Rios looked over at Salem. He'd dozed off in the truck, five miles into the trip, but even while maneuvering through traffic Rios could see Salem twitching. His hands clenched and unclenched, his lips shaped silent dream wrought commands and his eyes skittered back and forth searching for threats. Rios reached across the cab and squeezed his neck.

"Ellie, Ellie your safe man." He promised. The last situation he needed was his partner spinning out of control in the truck.

Salem stilled and then shot awake. He looked at Tyson then scrubbed his hands roughly over his face.

"Sorry." Was all he managed and then rode the rest of the way to his apartment silently.

Once at the apartment Salem dug through the manila envelope Hubbard had dumped his possessions into and retrieved his keys. They entered the apartment and Rios froze. Salem had never been much of a housekeeper but the current state of the place stunned him. Tyson hadn't been over since getting back with Samantha two months ago and it was apparent Salem had not only missed him but slipped back into his less than cleanly ways after Tyson had moved out. Salem tossed the keys onto the cluttered counter and made straight for the triple wide glass door over- looking the ocean and opened them.

"Beauty of a break tonight, mostly a full moon too. Think I'll grab my board and…"

"Salem, full moon or not it's dark. Sharks feed in the dark."

"You send me straight into MMG fire, certain fuckin death. You let Tyannikov, Freemont…"

"Ok, ok Salem, is my shit still in the hall closet?"

"Meet you down stairs."

Tyson paddled out to where Salem was sitting on his board, just beyond the break, staring out at the moon lit horizon. They'd played this game for years. Rios hated surfing; couldn't surf to save Elliot's life. So his sole purpose in the joint activity was to drag a floating cooler full of beer out to Salem's location.

"Bout time you got here; stow it and give me a full one." Elliot said when Rios finally floated up alongside him.

"Hate this shit, Elliot."

"Yea and I hate elevators and wondering when you're gonna bail on me. This is my wave. Back in a few."

Rios paddled round and watched Salem dig hard into the swell, stand and ride the wave toward the shore. He waited, hating having lost sight of the younger man in the moonlight as the wave carried him away. Tyson was calculating the ride time and the time for Salem to return when something grabbed at his foot. The big man kicked out panicked. Then Salem burst to the surface trailing his board.

"I could never, still can't really understand why you are so afraid of the ocean, Tyse. It's life. It is free; it's everything we are not."

"Just do not touch me out here, Salem. Fuck, I thought you were…"

"What a shark? A predator, like us preying upon…"

"Elliot, don't. You know better. You…"

"Ever been caught in a rip tide, Tyse?" Salem asked sliding back onto his board and facing back out to the horizon.

"No, because I do not like surfing."

"Yet, you are out here to placate me."

"Salem here, here's one of the beers you let me swim out here with."

"Ok, Tyse. This is, I think, a metaphor. Nayla, Anda Half, she taught me…"

Salem took the proffered beer and pulled Tyson's board a little closer by the leash.

"Imagine a rip tide, Tyse. The sea, and the sea is strong, drags you out. People panic and fight against it. But what's the solution? I'm the beach. You are in a rip, you fight and fight and swim against it but if you just relax, you always come back to the beach, to me."

"You're drunk. We need to go in, Ellie"

"You struggle against all odds. The current drags you down, fills your lungs with water, drives you into the sea floor, but you love the sea, hate the sea, understand it, need it but it's killing you. Samantha's like the sea and I'm…"

"Salem?"

"It's the horizon, Tyse. An infinite, something to believe in but you stole that from me."

"Elliot, we should…"

"Shut up or I'll call the sharks, they don't like traitors."

"Ok, Elliot, ok."

"The rip, if you just relax, will save you. You are my beach. The rip, Samantha, your blindness, they drag me out. But I know, always felt that if I just ride, just float, no matter what I'll come back to you. Like you always come back to me. Fuck you, you arrogant mother fucker; you always come back to me. I'm cold and hungry and confused. Let's go."

Tyson paddled back to shore behind Elliot struggling with the realization the man might need or want something more from their partnership. A realization he'd been denying for years.

Note:

Putting this up probably too quickly... Further editing might occur. The guys have many issues to tackle. I am not sure if there is ample cannon fodder for them to have an intimate relationship but the more I work with them the more I find that Salem may possibly harbor feelings for Rios beyond simple brotherhood. That said, whether or not the pair act on their feelings, if they exist bi-laterally I do not know. It is a very difficult decision.


	5. The Weight of Brotherhood

Warnings: Language, sad stuff, violence

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

_**The Weight of Brotherhood**_

_Georgia: 2008_

Four beers and a shot of Stoli after getting out of the water, Rios carried an unconscious Salem into the bedroom, yanked off his still damp board shorts and settled him, under a mountain of blankets, in bed. He was heavier than back in Mogadishu but for Rios, carrying Salem had never really been an issue. He stood looking down at the sleeping man. So many years, so many trials and still they were foolish enough to play the morally fuzzy game of war that they did.

Maybe a rip current had caught them. Maybe that rip, if they could just relax and go with it, might take them to a safe place like Salem wished for. But Rios, older, wiser and possibly becoming jaded with age and disappointments worried that the rip was invariably doing just the opposite. That their complacency, their floating along, was only drawing them back, over and over again, for fear of finding and loosing happiness, into the violence they'd been hiding behind for so long.

_F.O.B. North Africa 1993:_

Once Vasily and his men left the bar Benedict launched into action.

"Sgt. Rios, fall 'em all in by the central flag pole!"

Then he went to Salem, gently lifted the injured man to his feet and led him stumbling from the room.

At the flag pole the nine man squad stood at ease. Assorted clumps of onlookers, Vasily's team included, watched the impromptu formation with curious fascination. Benedict took his place in front of the men with a flagging Salem at his side. He called them to attention then looked down the double line of men, meeting each one's eyes.

The group disgusted the old soldier and his first instinct was to transfer the lot and rebuild the team with Salem at its core. He knew though, that such a move would simply be shuffling his own failure into another commander's lap. If he'd learned anything in his lifetime of military service, it was that a man had to take responsibilities for his actions and lead by example. First Sergeant Gabe Benedict was still a First Sergeant because he'd lost his Master Sergeant rank on two occasions, for doing just that.

Salem coughed and dropped to his left knee, groaning in pain. Benedict stood him up again and looked him in his rapidly swelling left eye.

"I need you to hang in for me, Salem. Just gimme ten minutes son; ten more minutes."

Salem nodded and Benedict turned to the squad and in a voice born from throwing orders over the din of battle, he began.

"This is Corporal Elliot Salem, United States 75th. Ranger Regiment, Sniper, Sapper and your brother in arms and you have failed him! I have failed him. We as a unit have failed him. This will never occur on my watch again or so help me god I will, at the price of my own life, execute the man or men who do."

He took Salem by the elbow, led him to the first man in line and lifted his chin so the pair could see eye to eye. When the soldier tried to look away from Salem's battered face, Benedict snatched his head around by the chin.

"Look at him! Who is this man?" When the soldier looked confused, Benedict screamed at him inches from his face. "Are you deaf, Sgt. Pedro Ramos? Who- is- this- man?"

"Corporal Elliot Salem United…"

"I cannot fucking hear you, Ramos!"

"Corporal Elliot Salem! United States Army 75th. Ranger Regiment! Sniper, Sapper, Brother in arms!"

"And?"

"I have failed him!"

"No, Sgt. Ramos, 'I have failed _you_, my brother.'"

"I have failed you, my brother."

Benedict reached out, tore the man's Ranger tab free, pressed it into Salem's left hand and closed his fist around it. The routine continued, finally reaching the last man, Rios.

"Corporal Elliot Salem, United States Army 75th. Ranger Regiment, You are my Shooter, you are my partner, you are my brother and I have, with great dishonor to myself, failed you."

Salem began to slump and Benedict let him fall into Rios' arms. The big man scooped Elliot up easily and faced his First Sergeant. He could feel Salem trembling from pain, against his huge chest and prayed, from a place deep within his heart, that man's pain would stop.

"Get him to Sullivan, get him seen to."

"I'll stay with…"

Benedict laughed. It was a bitter, sardonic laugh that Rios could not recall ever hearing from the older man.

"No, _Corporal_ Rios," Rios flinched at the title and the men in the front rank broke attention and turned to look at the pair, stunned by the demotion. "You will, Corporal Rios, drop him off. You will, Corporal Rios make sure Corpsman Sullivan knows about the round Corporal Salem took in the right shoulder. The one you chose, as a Sergeant, to ignore; despite fact it probably saved your useless life. Then you will return here. You will fall your squad out with full rucks and supplies, for a road march by, 0400."

"How far, First Sergeant Benedict?"

"As far as it takes, Corporal Rios, as far as it takes."

Benedict stalked away. Rios took command, gave the necessary orders and made his way to the infirmary. The squad followed his orders. Rios, rank aside, was their leader and even furious at the man, Benedict was wise enough to realize that no other man in the squad, despite rank, could fill that position.

Rios carried a semi-conscious Salem to the infirmary. He went straight passed the rat faced clerk and into the number twelve cubical.

"Sullivan. Sullivan, where the fuck are you man?"

"Put him there, be gentle, that's it." The old Corpsman instructed.

"I'm to leave him. He's got a shoulder wound. Vest took the brunt of it and…"

"Get the fuck outta my clinic dirt bag!"

Rios set Salem down on the bed and turned to Sullivan. The man was livid. If Benedict's reaction to the squad's inaction was the measure of the shame Rios and the men should feel then Sullivan's tripled that and knowing that nothing he could say would placate the man, he turned and left.

Sullivan went to Salem and sighed. The boy was a bloody mess. He pushed Salem's blood tacky hair back off his face and ran his knuckles gentle along his bruising cheek.

"Sully's gonna fix you up now, ok. Sully's got your back."

Corpsman Sullivan started by cleaning Salem's many gashes. Then he slowly and carefully stripped him out of his filthy uniform, iced his eye down, sponge bathed him and wrestled the battered soldier into a gown. There was nothing he could do for the young man's mangled wrist until Major Vickery arrived, so he stabilized it. Salem tolerated Sullivan's ministrations in mute indifference until Sully tried to wash his left hand. Salem pulled his tightly clenched fist up against his chest and shook his head.

"No, my team."

Sullivan looked down confused and read panic in his patient's eye.

"Ok, Elliot ok, but I need to get the O2 sensor on you and I can't use your right hand pal."

"No, another way, no."

Sullivan let it go, and instead started an I.V. for fluids and pain medicine. As he was finishing up Vickery arrived, took one look at Salem and was repulsed. That the Ranger's team had sat back and allowed the beating sickened him.

"They need to get all those guns for higher, mother fuckers off this base!" He hissed pulling on surgical gloves and settling on a stool at Salem's bedside. "Talk to me Sully."

"Ringers and a slow 2mg drip of morphine for pain. He's been drinking. I can't say I blame him but that will impact anesthesia. The right wrist is broken. He also took a round to his right shoulder. Vest ate most of it but Benedict said he saw him go down and stay down briefly. Medium caliber, but the bruising is already pretty rampant. The facial contusions are, thank god, ugly but primarily superficial. Orbital's feel intact, his nose is broken but all in all I'm thinking Vasily wanted to bash him up but not ruin him entirely, sick bastard."

Vickery gentle probed Salem's face, called for a suture kit and ordered x-rays for Salem's head, wrist and shoulder; all the while talking softly and reassuringly to the man. When he tried to pry Salem's left fist open he too met with resistance. Sullivan shrugged and Vickery leaned in close to the dazed man.

"Let me see, son. Whatever it is, you can have it back."

"My team." Salem mumbled through his battered lips.

"Trust me, relax, let me see."

Salem finally did and Vickery peeled open his fingers, surprised that Salem's short nails had dug bloody gouges in his palm. What he found stunned him. The clenched fist held nine Ranger tabs. He looked down, brushed a hand through Salem's sweaty, blood stuck bangs and nodded to Sullivan to put him out.

"Your team. Yes, Corporal Salem, they are in fact that."

At 0400 hours Rios and the squad stood at the central flag pole confusedly looking down at what they'd encountered there. In front of each man's designated position, with the exception Rios', lay a concrete building block, painted bright white and an extra –large, black permanent marker. Rios' spot held a sixty pound bag of cement mix. Benedict arrived and Rios called the men to attention then dismissed by the First Sergeant, joined them.

"As Rangers in this Army, this Regiment, we have sworn an oath to bear the weight of our brothers when they are in need. Last night we failed. No, we failed a couple of months ago when Corporal Salem arrived. I failed. I underestimated the effect of one man's disdain on my squad. I failed you all on that count and it is, I assure you, a failure I do not take lightly. But each and every man here is a man and as such had free will to correct that error. Each and every one of you as a free man had the responsibility to give Salem a fair shake or at best come to me or Rios and let us know we were fucking things up. That is how we stay alive. We watch each other's six's whether it's in combat or morally. We didn't do that. To a man you turned a blind eye. To a man last night, when the situation escalated into mayhem, you still hid behind Rios' opinion. Well gentlemen welcome to facing up to your mistakes.

That brick is Corporal Elliot Salem. That pen is your means of apologizing to him. We will all carry his weight for the next month. If I catch anyone without their block, you will be summarily court martialed for dereliction of duty. You eat with it; sleep with it, shit with it, fuck with it. Your apology better be from the heart and gut. I will be reading them. I will…"

Benedict stopped shot forward and grabbed Sgt. Dustin Mendelssohn by the throat.

"Do have a problem?"

"This is wrong."

"You think so? File for a transfer. But in the meantime, Mendelssohn you belong to me. You even think about retaliating against that kid and I as I said last night I will end you."

He shoved Mendelssohn back into line and returned to the front of the formation.

"Load 'em up."

He loaded his bag of concrete into his Ruck, as the men loaded their blocks and steeled himself up for a long three day march.

_Georgia 2008_

Morning broke cold and rainy which depressed Rios immensely. He'd hoped for good weather, road trip weather, weather that would help drag Salem out of his funk. Once he'd settled Salem for the night he'd cleaned the apartment, washed three loads of the man's clothes and packed a bag for him. Salem still had not hinted at where he might want to go so Rios packed for all weather.

"Hey." Salem groggily greeted Rios around one p.m.

"Morning, well afternoon. Damn, aren't you quite the rag a muffin." Rios said grinning broadly.

Elliot's hair was flying wild and he looked like a little boy who'd slept for far too long.

"Fuck you."

He sat down at the breakfast bar, poured himself coffee and ran his hand back through the light brown mop.

"Bagels and bacon, if you want."

Salem shrugged.

"I packed for you, about three weeks' worth."

"You cleaned."

"Yea, place kinda needed it."

"Always cleanin' up my mess."

Rios sat down across from Salem and grasped his hand. Even with fourteen hours of sound sleep the man still looked wiped out and on edge. He'd need to be careful what and how he said anything. Elliot had a short fuse at the best of times.

Elliot looked over Rios' shoulder and out of the kitchen window.

"Raining, hate the rain, so where we headed, just us and only us."

The latent distrust in Salem's voice was not lost to Rios.

"You tell me, man. Like I said, anywhere you want to go, for as long as you want to go for. We should have done this after Turkey; maybe before that but now we're fucking out of here for a while; just you and me like I promised you, Ellie."

Salem sighed, squeezed Rios's hand back and pulled it away.

"Louisiana."

The reply caught Rios off guard. Everyone and anything tying Salem to Louisiana was long gone. He'd lost his father, mother, siblings, grandparents, all dead for various reasons. Even the uncle, he'd tracked down in 2005, during the hurricane operation was gone. He'd managed to blow himself, Salem's aunt and few neighbors up in the family Meth lab in 2006.

"Louisiana?"

"Yea, just some unfinished business. I'll shower; we'll hit it and drive all night. I don't want to lose my nerve."

The trip was uneventful. Salem, always good at sleeping in cars, planes, choppers or any form of transportation, slept either curled up in the truck's back seat or against the door for ninety percent of trip. Rios finally woke him just outside of the parish he'd given him directions to. It was just past nine in the morning and a beautiful sunny day. Salem had him pull over at a small hotel and get a room. They cleaned up, changed clothes and with Salem navigating set back out.

"It's been a while, so if I get lost I'm sorry, Tyse."

Since arriving in the small Parrish of Paulette, Salem had become fidgety and frightened. Rios, having no idea why they were there, couldn't offer the younger man any form of solace. Following Elliot's directions they made their way off the main highway and out into the countryside. It was pretty country. Although fall was just around the corner there were still plenty of blooming, colorful flowers lining the winding road and the trees were just beginning to turn.

"Actually, Tyse I've never been there so…"

"No worries Ellie, we'll find it."

"Don't want to upset you, Tyse."

Rios looked across the truck at him. He was staring straight ahead wringing his hands and his lower lip trembled slightly. Rios reached out to grasp his hand but Elliot pulled away.

"Please don't. Time enough for that later. See the sign, just ahead on the right pull in there. But first stop I need some flowers."

Rios pulled the big truck over and watched as Salem gathered a large bundle of the colorful blossoms lining the road. He got back in and they pulled away. Just before the gate he looked over at Rios.

"Tyse, I love you bro, always have, always will and I'm sorry for ever hurting you."

The sign came into view and Rios' stomach flipped. '_Blossom Valley Cemetery_. He fought down panic as he turned into the gate trying to recall if all the guns had been in Salem's gun safe when he locked it.

"Stop at the tiny house. I need the plot location."

Rios did and relaxed slightly. Salem's whole demeanor was off, his fear, his nervousness; the declaration of love, Rios wished he knew what the younger man was playing at. In a flash Salem slid back into the truck with a slip of paper.

"Back around to the left up there, park then we have to walk."

They parked the truck and started up the brick pathway into a glade of trees. The oaks were old growth and intermingled with huge Magnolias. The sunlight sprinkled through just enough to not make the pathway shady but not dreary. Graves lined the way, some of the dates back into the 1800's. As they walked Salem studied the slip of paper. Finally they turned down a path leading into a lush, green cove backed by a pond. Weeping willows lined the water and several large granite grave stones filled the tranquil spot.

Elliot paused for a moment, folded the slip of paper carefully and put it in his wallet then stepped off the pathway making straight for a matching set of stones. Rios hesitated. He wasn't sure if Elliot wanted to be alone or have him come along at that point. Salem stopped when he realized he was alone and looked longingly at the older man. Rios nodded and joined him.

A moment later they stood before the immaculately cared for gravesites and Rios read the inscriptions.

"_Jennifer Diana Salem, Wife of Private Elliot Nicholas Salem, Mother of Ellie Nicole Salem and Daughter of Hunter and Hillary Bathington, April 11 1973-November 20 1993"_

"_Ellie Nicole Salem, Beloved daughter of Private Elliot Nicholas Salem and Jennifer Diana Salem, Granddaughter of Hunter and Hillary Bathington, June 6 1989-November 20 1993"_

"Elliot, what am I looking at here, man?"

Salem walked to the graves, split the flowers into two bundles, placed a bundle reverently on each and dropped limply to his knees.

"My wife and daughter."

Rios' heart sank. November '93. The same month Salem had arrived in North Africa.

Notes: Sgt. Pedro Ramos I borrowed from AoT, the first game. I gave him a last name. Sgt. Dustin Mendelssohn appears in the comic "Dirty Money". The uncle, dead in his meth lab, is also from "Dirty Money" I just blew him up. All other odd secondary folks are mine. If I get some military stuff wrong I'm sorry. Enjoy!


	6. A Brotherhood of Fathers

_**A Brotherhood of Fathers**_

_Louisiana 2008_

Rios couldn't move. Salem had dropped to his knees and was sobbing uncontrollably. For fifteen years the man had kept this secret. For fifteen years, birthdays, and anniversaries had slipped by and Salem had never uttered a word. In Somalia, he'd suffered through his grief alone, while trying so hard to become a part of the squad, to simply earn even a shred of their respect. He'd lost his family and hoped to gain a team, a surrogate family and Rios had destroyed that dream. But what truly crushed Rios' heart was the fact that for the last eight years, Elliot Salem had been a perfect, selfless, doting, and loving second father to Nayla. Eight years of father's days and Salem hadn't missed a single one. He'd made them all special for Rios, on a grand scale. Salem even treated Samantha to mother's day gifts, despite the rift between them. But he now knew that when the day was done, Elliot had gone home alone, burdened by his secret loss and solitary grief. While he watched Salem sob, he replayed Samantha's cruel words over again in his mind and wondered if, she had known about Ellie Nicole, she'd have uttered them.

"I'd rather she'd died then carry the stain of that monster's murderous breath in her soul!"

Rios had no idea how to help Elliot. This was worse than a gunshot wound, worse than a beating, worse than anything Rios could measure the pain Elliot was suffering, against. He couldn't imagine losing Nayla. In Spain he'd come close and the sheer panic he'd suffered then, aside from nearly losing Salem on several occasions, rivaled any he'd endured in the heat of even the most violent encounter. Rios recalled Salem's terror when he'd finally found him at the hospital. The man had fallen apart and that was Nayla, not even his own child. Elliot still, six years later, frequently awoke screaming; haunted by the memory of finding Nayla lifeless on the pool bottom.

Finally he moved forward and dropped down beside Elliot. He reached over, draped his thick heavy arm over his shaking shoulders and drew him close. Then, despite the fact that Salem believed in no god or higher being, Rios said a prayer for the lost women. Yes, women, he thought as he prayed. Ellie Nicole would be twenty had she'd lived; a fine, gorgeous young woman, possibly draped in a beautiful wedding gown and not entombed beneath a bright white stone. The prayer finished, he wrapped Elliot up, crushed him against his broad chest and sobbed along with his desperate brother.

Gradually Salem's sobs abated but he clung fiercely to Rios. Then gently Tyson coaxed him up. He was a mess. The tears had swelled his eyes nearly shut and snot clogged his beard and moustache. Rios wiped his face clear with his hands and Salem pulled away.

"Don't s'nasty, Tyse." He said his voice piteously small and sorrowfully wounded.

"Ellie, you've bled on me, puked on me, pissed and shit on me over the years; a little snot's not gonna kill me, bro. Come on, you're done here for now. We can come again later. Let's just get you cleaned up, get a drink in you and just digest this, ok."

Back at the truck Rios dropped the tail gate.

"Sit, Salem." He ordered, needing to gain control.

Salem sat and Rios fetched the cooler and two tee shirts from the cab. He put the cooler on the tailgate, opened the drain plug and soaked one of the shirts in the icy water. Then, after ringing it out a bit, gently washed Salem's face with the cool cloth. He wet the second shirt and daubed it gently on his eyes to ease the puffiness.

"Here do that, don't want to hurt you. You're still bruised from jail."

"Can't hurt me, Tyse. Right now I'm just numb all over, you do it."

Tyson sighed, took back the cloth and handed Salem a beer.

"Just sip, ok. Give yourself a moment to settle." Then he continued to tend to Salem's face.

While Tyson worked on Salem, a burgundy Cadillac cts pulled into the little parking area. An older man got out, went to the trunk, and retrieved a small garden rake, bucket and some flowers. Tyson noted the visitor and nodded to him on his way to the cab to get Salem a clean shirt. As he leaned back out of the truck he heard the man speak.

"Elliot? Oh my god, Elliot is it truly you?"

Rios looked from the stranger to Salem and back, before stepping quickly toward the rear of the truck to intercept the man.

"Help you?" He snapped, cutting the immaculately dressed fellow off.

"I'm Hunter Bathington. I come every day. I'd given up hope, a long time ago, that Elliot was alive or that I'd ever see him again."

"Elliot?"

"'S-ok, Tyse. Guess he's family."

"Ok, Elliot, if that's what you want. Here, let's get this sweatshirt on you though."

Tyson carefully pulled Salem's snot soaked tee shirt over his head then, slipped the tan sweatshirt on him. He replaced Salem's hat then stepped back.

"I'll just put these in the truck."

"'K, Tyse."

"I looked for you, Elliot. Well not at first, but once I overcame my anger and realized how grossly wrong I'd been about you. The Army wouldn't tell me anything. Once you took care of, well the paper work, it basically meant for them, that we were no longer family. I'm a lawyer and still, not even with a private investigator, I couldn't find you. You'd just vanished. They only said you'd gone to Somalia and that I had no right for information. I got the money you sent over the years, to pay for the funeral, all untraceable and I put it in trust for you. But then nothing."

Salem sat mutely listening and barely registering Hunter's apology. Beyond the man he could still see the matching headstones, bright white against the brilliant green of the lightly swaying willow limbs and the rippling turquoise pond water. His chest felt as if both stones were sitting upon it, crushing the life out of him. For eight years he'd waged a war with this man to earn his respect. Eight years without ever hearing a kind word and though it pained Elliot to admit it, he'd craved that kindness, especially once he'd taken steps to set his life, his and Jennifer's and Ellie Nicole's, on track and succeeded.

In 1988, at the age of sixteen, Louisiana, finally tired of Salem's habitual offending, tried him as an adult and sent him to prison on a ten year sentence for murder. While Salem, a scrawny junkie, fought for survival behind bars in the brutal adult population, Jennifer, pregnant and also addicted to Heroin went into rehab and struggled to become healthy for the coming baby. At seventeen the Army came and cut him a deal, survive their plan for his training or go back to prison. Salem knew that going back was a death sentence. His father, an old hand at casting Elliot away, readily signed the consent forms. He graduated Basic training, first in his class, returned home for a short leave, married Jennifer and moved them into base housing. As far as Elliot was concerned, his small, fledgling family was well on its way to happiness and he'd left his old past far behind him.

Hunter was at a loss. Salem hadn't moved a muscle. The other man, Tyse, he recalled Elliot calling him, stood nearby watching; alert to any threat he might pose to Elliot. Hunter saw that Elliot eyes were fixated on the gravestones and tried to use that as a way passed the young man's grief.

"I hope they are ok? I picked them and wrote the inscriptions. I won't lie to you and pretend that at the time, anything you'd have said might have mattered; but over the years I have always hoped, that if you ever visited they would please you."

Salem blinked rapidly and slow tears trickled down his cheeks. Hunter looked to Rios then back at Elliot. His instincts, as a father, bade him to embrace the broken young man, to try and assuage his grief by sharing his own with him. It hurt to see the handiwork of his hate, to have no way to readily heal the damage wrought by years of cruelty and as Hunter knew, his neglect. How different would their lives be today, if he'd just embraced Elliot's loneliness and provided the affection and care that the truculent boy had begged for, no he thought, deserved?

"November '93 was a bad month, Mr. Bathington. No, winter '93 was a bad winter. Tyse, they're white, the gravestones, Tyse are white. Remember it, our little wall we built for me, with my tall block in the middle. Was white too, my wall, Tyse."

Then he chugged the rest of his beer. He'd thought that he'd left that little white wall back in Africa and now, sitting beside this tranquil pond, so many hard years later, he suddenly realized that the wall was, for him, a gravestone. Part of him died in Africa, possibly the very best part of himself. Too much had happened to him, too quickly during that long bitter winter. His hopes and most of his ideals had been shattered, all simply more than he could cope with alone. Deeply saddened by the revelation, Elliot stood and climbed back into the truck.

_North Africa 1993_

While Salem languished in the infirmary, with too much time on his hands to think, and worse yet feel, the squad, his team, languished, without him tramping through the brutal African sun. He'd begged to go along, catch up to them, tried to flee the infirmary, but Vickery had sedated him.

On the trail none of the angry men dared complain aloud. Gabriel Benedict was a harsh task master when necessary and none of them desired to raise his ire any more than they already had. Rios had been stone silent throughout the march, speaking only when giving an order required him to do so. It was a forced march, little food, little water and less sleep. Most of the younger soldiers marveled that the fifty year old Benedict was able to push them like he was.

On the third and final night they made a rough camp before the long haul home in the morning. Aside from the sentries, those not performing some duty sat miserably around a tiny, ineffectual fire, cursing the cold night air. Rios and Benedict were huddled, off apart from them, talking and the men feeling safe finally started griping aloud.

"This whole fuckin' thing is bullshit." Mendelssohn said taking his block out of his rucksack to get to an MRE.

"You know, Mendelssohn, it's really not. We did fuck the kid. We all did. I been thinkin' this through, every miserable step for three days and we fucked him. We let those mercs eat him alive, when we should have, even if we hate the little puke, at least saved him from the likes of those scum bags 'cause he is one of us."

"Maybe you did, Pedro but not me. You gotta prove your worth man. He dropped, Rios. He's too small."

"He dropped him because Rios should have done it Salem's way to begin with you stupid jealous, fuck. He shoots better than you and that pisses you off, Dustin. Admit it he's fuckin' good. He took initiative to fix the problem. He saved the op when Rios sat and nearly let it go to shit!"

"You too, Heckler? What the hell. Salem's way? No, the green, little ass bitch follows Rios' orders, not vice versa! Just like all the rest of us!"

"Mendelssohn, I watched them training one day, man. Over and over Rios made the kid try and pull him up. I don't know how many times and it just didn't work and the more they tried the tireder Salem got. Rios is a big bastard, man. Finally he gets Rios to do it his way. He shoves Rios' fat ass up, then Rios pulls him up. Easy as shit and Rios fuckin knew that the day of the op. He just wanted to show his ass and try and make the kid fail. Rios is like that, did me that way, my first week here. I hated him for a long while afterwards."

"It's still bullshit." Mendelssohn snapped, flipping his block up and sitting down on it to eat.

"Mendelssohn," Guidry, the eldest of the men and second in command after Rios finally cut in icily. "First of all, the kid's not as green as you'd like to think. I did some checking. He's seen more action than most of you guys and lived through some bad shit. Secondly, I'm with Top on this." He stood up, crossed to where the younger man sat looking up at him stupidly and knocked him off the block. "One more fucking bitch about that kid and Top won't need to end your miserable excuse of a Ranger's ass, I will. Now shut the fuck up, choke down your food and go replace Bentley on guard duty. Oh and put Salem there, closer to the fire. Then later, don't forget him. I saw you without your block, takin' a shit this morning."

Across the clearing Rios sat listening to Benedict in a private counsel, just as they'd done each night of the march. It was another lesson about leadership, about growing men out of boys who already think they are men. It tried to press upon the man his responsibility and his impact on all of the fellow soldiers he'd serve with for the duration of his time. There were no words of criticism, no reflection back upon the week's sad events. It was just a gentle yet firm lecture on leading. He finished the meeting with a quote.

"And Rios, here's a rule of thumb, son. I don't recall the man who said it. I want to say Sophocles but damned if I know. Just keep it in the forefront of your mind, always. _"By the bridle and the rudder too." _

Back at the base Sullivan finished giving Salem his instructions for release.

"Light duty until we take out the stitches and easy on the hand. The cast will protect it but still, I don't want to catch you out there banging it against some merc's head. If you're bored, I think Talbot, over at the armory said he could use a hand, he likes you."

"Wow, some one likes me."

"Yea, Elliot someone, more than a few folks do. Here let me help with those buttons."

"When are the guys getting in?"

"I'm thinking early morning. Why?"

"Just getting myself ready. That's nine guys, gonna be gunning for my little bitch ass, nine more than I need."

Sullivan looked sadly at the young soldier. If the squad kept pushing him, he knew that Salem had the potential to jump to the PMC's. The boy wanted, needed to belong to something and even if that something was a step backwards, Sullivan knew Salem would take it to ease the heartbreak of the team not accepting him.

"Things will ease up, son. Benedict's a good man, trust him. Just promise me, Elliot stay clear of Vasily and his type, that's not the path for you."

"I'll try and thanks for everything."

The next morning Rios pushed into their room around 0900 and found Salem stretched out on his bunk, staring up at the yellowing ceiling, with a length of gun cleaning rod shoved down his cast, scratching his arm. He dropped his gear and sat down to take off his boots. Salem rolled onto his right side and watched the big man. Tyson was tired. No the man was exhausted. Elliot could see that the march had taken a toll, not just physically but emotionally, on the giant and felt surprised that it hurt to see Rios so worn out. Sighing, he dropped down and crossed to Rios' weapon, where it leaned against the wall and hefted it.

"Gimme the side arm too. I'll take care of them while you get cleaned up."

Rios looked up from unlacing his boot stunned. Salem's right arm was in a cast to the elbow and the swelling to his face had gone down but he still looked like hell.

"Why, for fuck's sake would you do that?"

"You're beat to shit bro. But mostly you stink. Go shower, rest, I got this. 'Side's keeps me occupied, keeps me from thinking. Hate thinking, hurts."

"Sure."

He handed the side arm to Salem grip first and watched him set the weapons carefully on his bare desk before going to his locker and fetching the rest of the cleaning kit.

As Salem sat down, Rios passed him toting his bag of cement to the bathroom.

"Sarge."

"Corporal. It's corporal now, corporal."

Salem was surprised that the comment held no contempt.

"Sarge, you think he's really gonna make you guys tote that stuff for a month?"

Rios paused, set the bag inside the bathroom door then returned for his towel and clean clothes. He had a pretty good idea what Gabe had planned for the white blocks and had to admit, after much thought on the issue, it was a good show of camaraderie and that he approved, but it was going to be a long month.

"It's Top Bene, Elliot, so yea; well unless we fuck up. Then he'll add time. Be out in a few and thanks."

Salem smiled as he broke the hand gun down. Elliot, he thought, maybe that was a start.

_Louisiana: 2008_

Not sure what more to say to Salem, Hunter crossed to Rios and stuck out his hand.

"Hunter, it's nice to meet you."

"Tyson Rios, likewise. Look, ah, I know Elliot for fifteen years and until just this morning, I knew nothing about any of this. I was with him in, November '93, and have been for practically every day since. He never said a word about them, this."

"He's exhausted and grieving, I've been there. Just after they died I retired and bought an old plantation just five minutes from here, so I could be close to them. I come every day; it's a miracle we all met today. I have searched for him for years."

"He flies well below the radar. It's partly our work and he's hell bent on owning nothing of consequence, so…leaves a pretty cold trail. His cars are even in my name."

"Anyway, why not come and stay a few days, hell as long as you need. He is my son after all. He has no other family. That much I do know, always knew. Even alive they were a useless bunch and now they've all died. I went to every funeral hoping to see him. I too, am alone. My wife…she left after Jen died and it was not amicable, as so often happens with tragedy. I'd love the company and a chance to get to know him. It is a long time coming, but God knows, I owe him a fair shake."

Rios sighed and looked back at Salem slumped against the door of the truck. Hunter was right. Elliot was in no shape to drive aimlessly around. A warm, comforting home would be better than a cold, faceless hotel and Rios realized that he too, needed a secure place to allow himself to come to terms with the morning's events. He put the situation into the perspective of a battle. Get your men to a safe place, regroup, heal and move on. _'By the rudder too…'_

"I tend to agree. Let me run that by him. I doubt he'll say no. But I know Salem, Bathington, and if we do stay on, please be aware he can be a very difficult man to manage when he's like this."

"I understand. I'll just sweep the graves and load my stuff, give you two a moment."

Rios went to the passenger door and called quietly to Elliot. He was dozing slightly, which was a good sign. He figured if he sold the invite to Elliot like a mission, steered him gently in the desired direction, it might go over better.

"Yo Ellie, listen to me, man. Hunter lives nearby, two klicks out. Says it's safe to rest up there, regroup a bit, you know, before we move out."

Salem sat up straighter, took off his hat, ran his hand through his hair and put it back on backwards. Stay at Hunter Bathington's house, that was an invite he'd never expected. The only welcome he'd ever received at the Bathington home, even after marrying Jennifer, was from a sheriff with a restraining order.

"We could use a nice, safe hide to regroup in, bro."

"Sure Tyse, that'll work; hell, I always wanted to see the inside of a Bathington house."

Tyse told Hunter and the pair set off following him home. As they pulled down the long Magnolia tree lined driveway leading to the old home, Tyse looked over at Elliot. The grief that had framed his demeanor earlier had slipped away and Rios recognized latent anger in its place.

"Elli, one thing, he's worked hard at getting past his hate for you. Seems sincere enough, knows he fucked things up. Try and give the man a fair chance."

Elliot's hazel eyes flashed with now, unconcealed anger. A fair chance, was Rios out of his mind? He looked hard at the man and at least on some level read truth in Tyson's statement. But forgiving didn't' come easy to Elliot and he adamantly believed, that the same was true for all men.

"Ok, but tell me something, Rios. Have you ever_ truly_ forgiven me for that hellish three day road march and carrying that bag of concrete around for a month and Benedict taking your Sgt. Stripes and having to stand a guard around my little white wall for nearly a year? Didn't think so. But that's ok, because it'll be a fucking cold day in hell, Tyson, before I truly forgive you, for the way you treated me."

Tyson held his peace the rest of the way to the house, now was not the time to fight this battle. Then as they unloaded their gear and plodded up the broad, squeaking steps into the huge southern plantation, style home, Elliot grasped his elbow and looked at him, the horrible sadness once again filling his eyes.

"I'll try, Tyse, I will. After all," he sighed, "we're all father's here, right. I'll behave and when we're done here, Africa; I need to see our little wall again."


	7. Chapter 7 Grim Brotherhood

_**Chapter Seven**_

_Grim Brotherhood_

_North Africa 1992_

Just as Rios had predicted it turned out to be a long month. The men, while more tolerant of Salem, still hesitated to accept him. Guidry, Pedro Ramos and Heckler, came around first and began to work with the new man little by little. Guidry, a silent loner, who was older the rest of the group having entered the Army when he was twenty-eight, took a keen interest in Salem's hand to hand fighting skills. The way he'd handled himself against the mercs had impressed him. The man had heart and viciousness about him that Guidry knew if honed and tapped, would be a huge asset to the team. The minimal hand to hand instruction Salem received in training was nothing compared to what Guidry could provide. He'd trained in several martial arts and immediately began helping Salem with techniques to counter his smaller stature.

Two weeks after returning, the rest of the squad sat around watching the new friend's train. Rios especially took interest in the pairs burgeoning friendship. Although Elliot and him were getting along and despite switching rolls of spotter and shooter until Salem's hand healed, working well as a sniper team, he worried that the young man's focus on Guidry might derail his own efforts at bonding with him.

"Ok Salem, good, good; now set your left foot here, no here." He repeated kicking Salem's foot into the proper position. "Yea, feel how this all feels. Sure, I'm a fuck of a lot bigger, but feel how now, with my center closed off you have control. Now step, pull and roll out left."

Salem followed the instructions and Guidry went down onto the training mat. Salem stood over him letting the move settle in his muscle memory. They repeated the take down over and over until the smaller man could do it at speed, flawlessly.

When they'd finished the session Rios walked over to them and clapped his hands together.

"You look good man, just two weeks in and you've really learned a lot."

Salem wiped his face down with a towel and gapped at Rios. Had the man just complimented him? He smiled and pointed to Guidry.

"It's all Giddy. He's good, Rios. This stuff, it evens my size out you know. It's just smart stuff. Be even better once I lose this damned cast."

"Yea missed my chance, guess I should've kicked your ass sooner."

"Guess so, Hey Gid, we gonna hit the weights tonight or no."

"Ah," he said looking at his watch, "I need to pass, Elliot. I have to see Top about some plans for the patrol, next month. So it'll have to be tomorrow."

"Sure, thanks, guess it's a shower then, well good night."

They watched Salem leave the training room, avoiding the squad by going the long way around.

"Look Giddy, gimme a hand with this will you." Rios started.

"What's up?"

"It's Salem. I'm trying damned hard to fix it between us. You've got this whole hand to hand thing going on let me take the weight training. It'll gimme some extra time with him, so I can get to know him better. Aside from you, Pedro, and Heck, the guys man they're just not havin' it."

"Yea no problem just figure how you want to play it. Nice and easy you know don't want to start anything with him."

"No I'll talk to him, come up with something, thanks. You need me in the meeting or is it strictly supply stuff?"

"Supply shit. That patrol they want next month, we'll be in an advanced position for a few weeks. We're just going over my lists. You think of anything though gimme a heads up."

"Roger that, good night."

Rios headed back to the room, mulling over what excuse he'd use to take over as Salem's gym partner. If he'd learned nothing else about the man he'd learned that he had a short fuse. The training with Giddy was keeping him focused but he was still waging a running skirmish with half of the squad. Rios hoped that Salem's new skills would be useful when the fighting started, which he knew it eventually would, but hoped the younger man could avoid that scenario. The team had about a week and a half left of carrying their bricks and the guys were getting sick of the extra weight.

When he got to the room Salem was getting out of the shower. He had only a towel round his waist and Rios could see that most all of the bruising to his ribs had healed. He was starting to put on some weight too which was good, it meant he could stop force feeding the man. Salem had, by his own admission, a lackluster appetite, and the Bosnia mission had ruined that.

"Hey." He said surprisingly cheerfully scrubbing at his wet hair with a second towel.

Rios tossed his keys on his desk and crossed to the window. Below he could see Bentley, Mendelssohn and Franklin playing cards at the picnic table and smoking. The squad had spilt down the middle and Rios knew that Benedict expected him to fix it.

"You're gonna have to teach me some a that fancy shit Giddy's showing you. Push comes to shove, I'm gonna have minimum four of those sorry fucks to kick the shit outta."

Salem tossed the towels over the back of his chair and grabbed a pair of sweats from his locker. He slid into them sans underwear and joined Rios at the window surprised that the big man was offering to fight over him.

"Fuck 'em. Just sucks for me because I can't afford the trouble. I fuck this Army gig up and get sent home, I go straight back to Louisiana State Penitentiary for the rest of a ten year stretch, which is eight. I survive this shit and I'm a free fuckin' man, pardon from the governor and all. I just hate not fighting my own battles."

Rios pulled the blinds closed and walked to his desk. Salem went back into the bathroom to clean it up and comb his hair then returned with two bottles of cold Corona. He pulled a bottle opener from his locker, opened them and handed one to Rios.

"Where in the fuck did you get this shit, Salem?"

"What's the name of that new policy they're working on for the gays? Don't ask don't tell. Well Sarge, don't ask and damn sure don't tell."

"How much you have?"

"Enough. Did a little plundering last week. There's plenty where this batch came from."

"Salem, the only guys, and I mean the _only_ guys drinkin' this on the base are those shady SSC mercs."

"Yup, and now their six cases light. Like I said bro this is _our_ stash, no one else."

"And how in the fuck are we supposed to throw out the bottles?"

Salem flipped his desk chair around and sat down with his forearms on the back of it.

"Dude, that's the best part." Salem said smiling broadly. "Don't. We put them back into the empty cases and I switch 'em when I get the next load. Then those pay for hire fuck faces think they've got more than they do till they open 'em, but better yet they start tearing out each other's throats trying to figure out who's jacking it. It will be primo, bro."

"And where for Christ's sake are you stashing it?"

"Enough on ice here for a day or so, and the rest; don't ask…"

"Right, I got it."

"Bathroom ceiling over the shitter, the A.C. duct runs through there, keeps it chilled."

"You're unbelievable, corporal, un-fucking believable."

Later after they killed six or so beers a piece and lay in bed. Rios finally asked the question that had nagged him all evening.

"Yo, Salem."

"Yea."

"Ten years, you did two, your only what man twenty-two or three and been Army long enough to get all the training you've got, don't add up."

"Went in at sixteen, adult facility, gen. pop, no place for kids. Fuck, damn sure thought I was a man, sick fucks cured me a that quick though. Army got me at seventeen."

Rios thought it through. "Ok and can I ask, what in the fuck did you manage to do, to piss 'em off enough to hit you so hard, Kermit? Fuck, damn sure had to be a bit more than stealing beer."

"Just a bit, murder. Tyse, this is between us two, bro. Those fucks can't ever know or they'll play me that much harder man, swear it."

"Swear, I got your six man, we're tight. Get some sleep now."

But Rios didn't sleep. He laid awake tossing and turning, picturing Salem, a skinny punk kid, fending off grown men in a prison. No wonder the man had a mean streak a mile long. Finally around sun rise he dragged himself up and went running.

Three days later the team went on a routine patrol and ran into unanticipated hostiles. The gun battle waged for several hours and the extraction choppers couldn't get in until they regrouped and cleared the LZ. Salem and Rios had exhausted all of their sniper ammo trying to pick away at the targets and finally fought a grim battle hand to hand for three blocks to reach the rest of the team to add their support. Salem's viciousness both disturbed and impressed Rios. Mendelssohn and Guidry had bunkered down, trapped several hundred yards to the team's right flank and Rios worked a plan out with Benedict to go after them so they could regroup and wait for the choppers.

"Take Salem, take half of Bentley's 50 cal. ammo and Salem, set me down some defensive sniper fire with that light fifty a yours, from there, in that pink building. Looks like from that second floor corner window you can get a good line on the bitches firing that MMG. I need that sucker eliminated, Salem. Pedro, you and Heck cover 'em. Bentley as soon as they hit the street let fly at that APC with that fifty and don't stop till there inside. Mark it Rios 'cause I'm gonna throw smoke too and if the wind shifts you two'll be running blind. Salem how's the hand?"

"Fine. Here, Top."

"What the fuck's this?"

"Three Incendiaries, new generation. Next time those fucks make a pass with that fifty cal. lob a couple in. It'll take that APC outta play. Short as fuck fuse though so watch it." Salem said loading Bentley's ammo into his pouches. "I've got one more. After we tag those bastards in the MMG, I'm gonna go for that second APC. These babies are beautiful. I love 'em."

"Yea where the fuck you get them?"

Salem grinned and slung his M107 around to load it.

"Ask Rios."

"Don't ask don't tell, Top. Salem's favorite new policy."

On cue the pair took off running. The smoke spilled out onto the street and the guys laid a fine line of cover.

"Fuck, that fucker Bentley didn't shoot me in the back!" Salem hollered as they dove through the door. "Sure as hell expected him to. You see the look on his face when top told him to hand over his ammo."

"Shut the hell up, pay attention and move up those stairs."

"Was like he was giving me his right nut or something. Oops, sounds like that APC crashed. Where you going, it's this way Rios, this corner."

Rios turned and followed Salem glad for the man's sense of direction.

"Here it's this one second floor corner. Take that window and cover me while I get set."

"Sure you can shoot that fifty with your hand? Cast's beat to shit, cracked."

"Roger that."

"Yup, Top got the fifty; it's smoking like a bitch and looks like they capped the tangos. Hurry up; you got eyes on him yet?"

"Yea, light him up; get him to rotate our way."

"What?"

"Yea clean shot through the peep hole between his bursts, works every time; just aim that way and keep your fat head down, Tubby."

"You are crazy, you truly are." Rios snapped back, ducking as he let loose a volley of rounds toward the MMG.

It roared to life and the wall around his window started to come apart.

"Any time Salem, I'm running outta wall here man."

"Chill bro, in between like I…"

Rios stopped firing when the MMG paused, then looked to his left when Salem's rifle cracked off a shot. There was no mistaking the sound of the light fifty.

"Target eliminated. Now get your fat ass moving I got an APC to kill and an incendiary burning a hole in mine."

Rios stood and followed Salem from the room, down the steps and out into a hail of gunfire, some theirs and some the hostile's. He ducked down an alley, cut through a building and headed up another flight of stairs. He could hear Rios talking to Benedict and knew that Giddy and Mendelssohn had rendezvoused with them. On the third floor Rios finally saw what the man had planned.

"Yea I saw you slink down here you sorry fucker. Welcome to the BBQ, baby. You're about to be the toast of the town. Can you drop it straight down into it? Bastards don't even know we're here. Then I'll cap the fucks if the make it out. Don't miss."

"You drop it, asshole. I'll cap em."

"Deal." Salem pulled the pin and burned a precious second or two, scaring the hell out of Rios. "On my count one, two, three."

They watched as the grenade fell straight down into the open turret of the old personnel carrier. Then it detonated just as it was fully within it.

"Sucks for you, Tubby. You zero, me three more. Ain't nobody crawling outta that bitch, let's move. Hmm, it's a lot quieter now."

"When Salem, did you start giving me orders?"

"You snooze you lose, Sarge. And tell Bene to send Giddy to get that MMG with the last one of those grenades. It'll make quick work of it."

Back at base the squad debriefed and wound down in the rec center. Bentley was irate. The idea that Benedict had passed him over and chosen Salem to take out the MMG galled him. The fact that the younger newer, man had done it with one shot, with a cast on his arm then took out the second APC didn't help matters. He was also now pretty much on his own when it came to hating Elliot. Mendelssohn and the rest of the team had congratulated Salem and accepted him. So it was now Bentley and Franklin on the outside looking in but he wasn't going to let that ride.

Benedict broke the group up around 2100 hours and told them to fall out by the flag pole with their bricks. He too had a surprise for the team. Rios called them to attention then fell in behind his rucksack.

"We had a tough one today. We pulled together and fought, for the first time, in a long while like a true team. We used our resources wisely, TAC and personnel both. Bentley I heard your bitching and I don't want to hear any more of it. It was my call to make, I made it, and it proved to be the correct one, which is precisely, son, why you are standing there and I am standing here.

Now, to reward your good work, we will divest ourselves of the blocks tonight in a little ceremony of sorts. Each of you will read your apology to Corporal Salem. If you've not written one do it now. Rios, fetch water for the cement, the two four by fours and those posthole diggers from the utility shed. Giddy you're with Rios; I know you've finished your block."

While Rios, Top and Giddy prepared the spot for the little wall the men worked on their apologies. Some were longer than others but as the team would discover all but Bentley's seemed sincere. One by one each Ranger stepped forward to the wall and read the note aloud before setting it in the cement and shaking Salem's freshly casted hand. The blocks would surround a central one that stood for Salem and Benedict and Rios also added one each. When Benedict's set his block the final one, Salem stepped forward and opened his rucksack. Then he placed ten red fire bricks atop the wall.

"I couldn't carry ten big ones, but I hope this is ok, Top."

"How long have you been toting them, Salem?"

"Since you guys left. Took them out on patrol, even. Just seemed fair. I did miss the road march after all."

"I see. Well done soldier. Pick them up and let's set them."

All in all Rios headed back to their room feeling as though unit cohesion had been re-established. All he needed now was to get Salem eating with the team and hopefully that would clinch it.

"Hey man." He said, pushing aside the ceiling tile over the toilet and getting them fresh beers.

He laughed noticing that the lid now sported footprints Salem's size. He just had to reach up but the smaller man had to stand on the lid.

"Tomorrow why not eat breakfast chow with us, man."

"I think that might be pushing it, bro."

"Look, Elliot I can't walk over and eat with you. That sends a fucked up message. Most everyone except Bentley and Franklin are ok now; just sit with us."

Salem took the beer and sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall with his elbows across his knees. He hated eating alone. Hated hearing the men laugh while he sat feeling sorry for himself.

"Yea I guess man, fuck if Bentprick doesn't like it I guess he can up and leave."

"That's the spirit, to us then. You better clean that toilet seat of too, man; footprints are a dead give- away to our little hidey hole."

"Right, Tubby. I acquire you clean that's teamwork."

Later after they'd settled in their bunks Rios roused Salem.

"Yo Elliot."

"Why do you do that? Why do you always wait until I'm nearly out to think of one last question Tyse, why?"

"Don't know. Hey man, those grenades, there aint any hiding around our room anywhere are there?"

"No not yet but you fucking wake me up again maybe I'll stash one under your pillow and go bunk with, Guidry. Good night!"

Morning came and the pair, lifted weights, the transition from Giddy to Tyson had gone smoothly, ran two miles, showered and headed to chow. Salem was upbeat but tense. Rios was learning to read the man's moods and right now he could see that one wrong word and Elliot would go ballistic.

"Just relax man it'll be fine."

"I was more relaxed running across that street yesterday in a hail of bullets."

"Look I got your back. I'll handle it, so even if it gets shitty, you're covered, you aint going back to jail. Don't worry."

Salem went through the line. He collected his obligatory strawberry, banana and peanut butter protein shake, the first of four he choked down per day. Grabbed a plate and got a triple serving of scrambled eggs drenched in white gravy sauce and two biscuits. He added five strips of bacon and a glass of orange juice.

"Damn Salem." Hill said looking at the overfull plate. "You usually don't eat that much in a week's worth of breakfasts."

"Yea burned some calories yesterday in that cluster fuck, and already worked out and ran this morning, guess I'm actually hungry."

"Good that's good. When do you see Vickery to weigh in again?"

"Next week, hopefully no more shakes after that. God they are disgusting, no offense to you man, they just suck."

Salem hefted the tray and headed toward the table. Rios was behind him in line and he hesitated debating waiting for him. He shook the idea off though fearing it would make him appear scared. As he approached the table he could see that Giddy had moved over and the chair next Rios' stood vacant. He set the tray down, pulled the chair back and froze.

"Guess that spot's taken hunh." Bentley sneered.

On the chair was a tiny white pebble. The group with the exception of Giddy, Heckler and Pedro burst out laughing. Rios looked up just in time to see Salem lift and drive his tray straight into Bentley's throat, then leap onto the table and take him down with a well- placed front snap kick to his face followed by a right footed, un- chambered side kick. Bentley went over and backwards with Salem following. They smashed into the table behind them and men scattered everywhere.

"Salem!"

Rios dropped his tray and bolted toward the fight. Bentley was tough and the kicks failed to knock him out but he was scrambling to get some distance between himself and Salem. Elliot, no fool to fighting, pressed his advantage and sent him reeling again with a third brutal front snap kick. Then he grabbed the men in a choke hold and started to squeeze.

Rios got there just ahead of Giddy and they tried to pry him away from rapidly suffocating man. Guidry finally chopped at both sides of Salem's neck, popping both carotid arteries knocking him out.

"Get him outta here, Rios. I'll manage Bentley." Giddy snapped. "The rest of you Pedro, Heck get this shit cleaned up."

Then Rios slung Salem over his shoulder, Giddy grabbed Bentley and they left.

Back in their room it didn't take Salem long to come around and the man was livid. Rios blocked the door and tried to get him to calm down.

"You set me up you, mother fucker. You set me up! Oh fuck I can't believe I trusted you!" He wailed tears streaming down his face. "I trusted you, I trusted you! I trusted you!"

He started punching his locker then began ramming his forehead into it when the cast cracked. Rios wrapped him up in a bear hug to hold him still.

"No, I didn't know. I told them you were eating with us that's all, Elliot stop it man! Your hands already broken, fuck Salem just listen to me, man stop it!"

"I can't do this. I can't take this, I can't! I've fuckin' had enough!"

Finally he stilled and slumped into Rios' arms and Tyson let him go. Elliot unlocked his locker and began throwing clothes into the empty rucksack.

"The Grenades are a bit further back in the ceiling. I'm outta here."

"No Salem. That's not the answer man, you can't run bro there's nowhere to go."

"Tyannikov, he'll hook me up. Never have to go home again. Nothing there anyway, nobody, fuckin' got nobody anywhere. Fuckin' so tired. Just have to run. Not going back to jail. I came here, wanted a team, wanted to work hard and just make my fuckin sad life right but they won't, fuck, fuck, fuck! Let me!"

He stopped and spun away from the rucksack as if it were going to attack him, sank down onto the floor, drew his knees up to his chin, buried his head in his arms and started rocking.

An hour later, Benedict came into the room quietly. Salem was still huddled on the floor and Rios was sitting on his bunk watching the man rock.

"Bentley's in the brig."

Rios looked up. "How'd you manage that?"

"Eight guys told the MP's he started it. I started the paperwork to get the sorry fuck out of my squad. Enough's enough." He looked down at Salem. "Elliot?"

"Guess I just have to wait him out. Packed and said he was hauling ass over to Tyannikov. I know that's not what he wants. Then he sat there, like that. Just gonna let him wear down, he smashed the cast again I need to get him over to Vickery a.s.a.p. I don't know what else to do. I doubt he'd talk to the chaplain or anyone. He's got so much going on, Gabe. It's a good thing Bentley's locked up I wanna kill that bastard. Salem thought I set him up."

"That's fucked up. Gimme a minute with him."

Rios stepped out and Benedict sat on the floor next to Salem.

"Look at me son." He began and squeezed the back of Salem's neck. "You did great work yesterday. You did good this morning. Bentley's gone as of now. He's in the brig then on the first flight out of here. The team to a man defended you and said he started the fight. You're clear of any trouble. Franklin and the others have been dealt with as well. This is a clean squad now, no more dead weight. Maybe I should have done it sooner. I just thought I could make better men out of them, better soldiers, I was wrong. We'll bring in new blood. I need you here, Salem. I've wanted a soldier of your caliber for my entire career, I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose you. I'm here. Talk to me, to Rios, to Giddy…we're here son. Understand?"

Salem nodded and sighed. He was exhausted, hungry and in pain.

"Need to see the doc. He's gonna kill me. This will be the third cast."

"He's not allowed to kill you; he took an oath to do no harm. Get up get moving. We'll get you fixed in time for lunch chow.

Later that night Rios awoke to find Salem's bunk empty. He panicked at first then saw Salem had left his wallet sitting on the desk. He threw on a jacket and headed out to find him. It didn't take long to locate the young man sitting down at the newly built wall, drinking beer. Rios sat down beside him and stuck his hand out for a bottle. Salem obliged him and then surprised him by slumping to his left and leaning against Rios' broad shoulder.

"Was a long day, Tyse."

"Yea that it was, Ellie."

"Sorry I doubted you. I just get out of control sometimes. I always have. It's caused me trouble all my life."

"You might want to work on it, Ellie. There's a time and a place for berserker mode."

"Yup."

"This too man." Rios added holding up the bottle. "Can be a long climb back out if you get down in it far enough."

"I know. Anyway doc Vick said the cast can come off in two weeks, and I'm off my feeding instructions."

"Well that's good news. Tired of feeding you six times a day."

"Four."

"Four, six same difference. The little wall's pretty slick."

"Yup." Salem yawned and stretched. "Let's go, Tubby, your falling asleep and I can't lug your fat ass up two flights."

He stood and extended his hand to Tyson who grasped it firmly and let Salem haul him up.

They hit their bunks as soon as they got in. Salem fell asleep quickly bundled in his blankets.

"Yo Ellie."

Salem wanted to be angry and tried. But Rios calling him Ellie touched a chord in him.

"Yea?"

"Man, do really have Incendiary grenades in our bathroom ceiling?"

Salem burst out laughing. For some reason the idea that Rios had even believed for a second he'd keep grenades in their room struck him funny.

"Sure Tyse, they're right next to my cache of C-4."

What the man didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

_NOTE: This has a rough end to it but I need to break it off. Maybe something will click and I'll touch it up later. This is a long chapter but we'll look in on the fellows in Louisiana soon enough._


	8. Chapter 8 A Brotherhood of Grief

_NOTES: Russian definitions:_

_1:_ моп маленький барсук: _My Little Badger_

_2:_ да старый медведь?: Yes Old Bear?

_3: _маленький барсук: Little Badger

_4: _Да, да.: Yes, yes.

_5: _одиноко: Alone, lonely

_6:_ Спокойной ночи: Good night

_**A Brotherhood of Grief**_

Elliot stopped short midway down the ornate foyer and gapped at the exquisite old mansion. The foyer opened up into a hall with duel sweeping staircases curving upwards to the right and left for two floors. The chandelier was the size of a compact car and the floors were black Belgian Noir Belge marble inlaid with random splashes of salmon hued Etowah and flawless White Carrera marbles, polished to a mirror's sheen. Beyond the sweeping stairway a forty foot long wall of extra tall, glass paned French doors opened onto a broad terrace looking out across an impeccably manicured, unbelievably verdant lawn that stretched for at least 250 yards down to the riverside. A brick walkway bisected the lawn and old stand Weeping Willows framed the sides. He'd been in palaces and fancy homes before but for some reason this place sang out to him.

Ignoring Rios and Hunter as they mounted the left set of steps, he stumbled forward through the arching stairway, through the ornate ballroom and peered across the lawn at the slowly churning river. A small bright white boat house and a matching gazebo flanked a mid-length dock and black wrought iron benches dotted the brick walk at random intervals, separated by a low, well clipped dense hedge of dark and light pink roses. It was a magnificent view. Clean and free of bothersome distractions, glowing in the afternoon sun. The lighter, brighter colored Willows stood out along the border of the darker green lawn and Salem sighed knowing that the shade the old trees provided would feel extraordinary after a cool swim in the mopey river.

"Salem."

He started at the sound of Rios' deep voice and turned to face the two men, expecting Hunter or Rios to scold him for wandering away. He began to apologize but Hunter held up a hand and waved him off.

"Hush, no need son, it's the reason I bought the old girl. That and the cemetery but this, this view, I've been all over the world but waking to this is the finest gift I could ever ask for. It was all that kept me getting up some mornings after I lost them. It's a little bit of heaven on earth."

Salem relaxed slightly and looked at Rios. Seeing no sign of discord in the older man he shrugged and sighed deeply.

"Yea, just caught my eye, it is beautiful. I'm right behind you now."

They set off again and Hunter led them to the second floor. He turned left and after passing several doors opened an ornately carved one on the right side of the hall.

"Here you go, Elliot. Bathroom is there, you should have plenty of towels and what not. This window overlooks the lawn see. The bench seat makes for a fine spot to watch the sun rise. Let me know if you need anything else. The bed is a comfortable one, I promise. I have slept in here before. Tyson your…"

"This is good we'll take it."

Hunter stared at the pair. The comment broached no argument so he let it pass. If they chose to share the room it was their business. He'd do nothing to get this new relationship with his son in law off to a bad start. Elliot seemed oblivious to the situation, just standing there holding his duffle bag, waiting to be told what to do. He behavior was frightening Hunter. The young man seemed out of touch, almost in a dazed state or in shock. Rios finally took the black bag from his partner's hand, squeezed his right shoulder then cupped Elliot's left cheek in his huge right palm and looked into his hazel eyes.

Then he said gently. "Elliot, go on take a shower. Get cleaned up, it will relax you man, I'll get us unpacked."

A moment later, after a concerned look to Bathington he set the bag on the king sized mahogany bed and fumbled through it; dragging out a pair of worn Levis, a sweatshirt that he recognized as one of his own, one he hadn't packed for Elliot, socks and under wear. Finally he found Elliot's toiletries bag, buried underneath his newly purchased CZ 97BD .45 caliber sidearm in its custom leather case, set it on the clothes and led Salem to the large well fitted bathroom. He started the shower adjusting the water to the temperature he knew Salem liked and faced him again.

"Go on, I'll set things straight with Bathington, then come check on you ok. Elliot you're fucking scaring me man. Salem?"

Salem blinked took off his hat and studied it as the room began to fill with steam. He ran a battered thumb back and forth across the T.W.O. emblem as if it were something he'd not seen before then squeezed his eyes shut tight then opened them very wide. Finally he looked shyly up at Tyson and nodded.

"Out in a few. I won't waste water."

He tossed the hat onto the vanity and started to undress.

"Ok, I'll see you soon, and I don't think Bathington's worried about his water bill so soak."

Tyson returned to Hunter and retrieved Elliot's gun from the duffle and then his own. He checked through Salem's bag once again making certain only the one weapon was present.

"Do you have a gun safe? I'd really like to stow these. He's got me scared. I've never quite seen him like this. This is tearing him up. It's like this all just happened for him yesterday, like he just walled it away for all these years and now it's fresh. I swear I think he's in shock."

"I'd tend to agree, Tyson and yes I do have a safe. I Pheasant and Turkey hunt so I have weapons. Follow me."

They went back downstairs and into a beautifully cherry paneled library. Hunter crossed to a large chest that matched the décor and entered a combination on a discretely hidden touch pad. He pulled the door open and took the cased weapons from Tyson.

"Oh, what a finely wrought case." He said admiring Salem's gun. "Is this custom, it must be, such delicate work."

"Thanks, I had it made for him two years back in Florence, Italy. He'd lost his side arm at the time, an old Makarov PM given to him, so he says, by a Russian buddy he ran into in the Balkans back in '95. It was a fine little gun and he loved it. He picked up a brand new 1911. It was his first new handgun and he was proud as hell of it so I had the case made for him after he admired a similar one when we were cutting through Italy on a mission. He…"

Rios paused and laughed, confusing Hunter.

"Here I am babbling away about guns and missions and you don't even know what the hell we do. Damn I think I'm in just as much shock as Elliot. Sorry man."

"No problem, Tyson, there all set. I'll write the combination down for you."

"Thanks, I'll just check on him and be right back. Guess I have some explaining to do."

Back in their room Tyson was stunned and relieved to find Elliot already out of the shower and dead asleep on the big bed. He covered him with an extra blanket that he found folded neatly on an old hope chest and drew the curtains closed. Sleep was exactly what the man needed and Rios was glad Salem had managed it without resorting to taking the medicine they carried, should he need it to settle down. Neither of them liked the prescribed injection but there were times that Elliot was so wound up, or plagued by nightmares that nothing else except the Amytal Sodium shots worked to keep him down. With a final check that Salem would be warm enough Rios headed back to field whatever questions Hunter Bathington was about to throw at him.

Bathington turned round when he heard Tyson re-enter the library.

"Beer, wine something stronger?"

"Beer's good."

"Here, have a seat. How is Elliot?"

"Shortest shower the man's ever taken to my knowledge. He's knocked out which is great. I figured I'd have to wrestle him down and give him a shot. I just hope he stays down for a while; he needs the rest."

Tyson took the beer and plopped heavily down into a deep, soft leather arm chair.

"Yes, he seems to be struggling, but then again Elliot has always had to struggle, poor thing."

"I guess you have questions."

"You too, so let's just clear the air shall we? Are the two of you more than just friends so to speak?"

"No. There've been occasions when I think he wanted that but I don't roll that way. Not even for Elliot. I've got a wife, well had one until two days ago. She hurt Salem, set him spinning out of control on me bad this time and I'm ending it, not that there was really much to end."

"Hurt him?"

"Ehh…She said some things, I have a daughter, Nayla, and Salem loves her to death, saved her from drowning when she was around two. About a week and a half ago I was outta town on business, and Elliot went by drunk and was teaching Nay how to shoot. Since returning from an op in Turkey he's been a bit manic. Admittedly a foolish idea, I know. Instead of just calling me, Samantha, my wife, gets rid of him, takes out a restraining order, then waits for him to show up for Saturday soccer game. She calls the sheriff and they get into it. Anyway she ends up telling Salem she'd rather Nayla had died then have the stain of Elliot's evil breath in her soul."

"Oh dear mother of god!"

"Yea, well he flies into a rage, attacks the sheriffs, two cars totaled, two guys still in the hospital, two badly hurt, or something close to that and now he's shutting down on me little by little. He was out of sorts ever since the Turkey shit now this."

"All these years he never mentioned Jen and Ellie?"

Tyson sipped his beer and thought back. He tried to pinpoint a hint or clue or half-truth that should have clued Rios in. Only one occasion stood out and he told Hunter the story.

"Gimme something stronger and I'll start."

_North Africa 1992_

"Ramos. Heckler, Rios, Franklin, Benedict, hey that's me, Giddy, that's it for mail call gentlemen. You guys are free until Monday, 0400. Then it's a long patrol south a here in an area we have little intell on. That's our job, to get it. So rest up, pack accordingly and tell the family you'll be outta touch for at least a month. Dismissed. Salem, on me son."

The squad dispersed leaving only Rios and Salem behind. Salem groaned and approached Benedict trying to recall if he'd done anything wrong in the last week or so. Rios tagged along behind him opening his letter.

"Top?"

"Salem, how long have you been here, son?"

Salem took off his cap, scratched his head, replaced it backwards and shrugged.

"Too long?"

"Wrong answer, corporal. Four months, four months, two weeks and three days and you have not received a single piece of mail. I know for a fact you mail a letter out once a month at payday. Yet you've received nothing. No cookies, no dear John, no you've won a million dollars from Publisher's Clearing House, no deaths or illnesses in the family, nothing. Nobody gets no mail, what gives?"

"Guess I've got no one to send me any."

"Salem, every fucking one has somebody, a bill collector, somebody."

"Nope can't say I do."

"And the letter you mail out."

"It's a debt I owe, a one way transaction, almost done."

"I've seen your files. I know you're not a fuckin' orphan."

"My files, Top?"

"Yea, why?"

"No reason, no not technically an orphan but I can't say anybody really ever took care of me so, no mail."

"Right, dismissed Elliot, and this conversation isn't over. Oh and hey, what's the chance of getting some of those AN-M14's, they worked great on those APC's."

"Incendiaries, depends, can I trade my files for 'em?"

"Salem!"

"Ok, Top ok consider it done." He said turning to leave, then shouting back over his shoulder. "Geeze, and if I make it so, mail me a thank you card and we'll be square on all counts."

Later that night, their paychecks cashed, the squad was hanging round the rec center shooting pool, drinking beer and looking at newly received pictures of Pedro's kids at Holy Communion and Franklin's newest fiancée. The mood was light and as usual Salem was cleaning house on the table. He hadn't lied to Top about sending money home for a debt and the money he made betting on pool kept him afloat payday to payday. He figured either the guys were too hard headed to concede he was so much better than they were or they lost on purpose so he could have a few bucks in his pocket. Humility aside, the fact was he rarely lost, at pool anyway. Playing poker with Mendelssohn was another story entirely and just two nights back he'd lost everything he'd gained playing pool in two fast hands of poker.

"How, why, how is it possible for you to be so fucking good at this game, Salem?" Guidry spat digging in his pocket for the twenty dollars he owed.

"Just luck Giddy, luck and if I fuckin' wanted to eat from the time I could see over the edge of a table I had to be good. Who's up?"

"Me, моп маленький барсук"(1)

Salem turned and his smile slid from his face. Vasily Tyannikov and three of his squad stood at the end of the table. Tyannikov held a pool cue and Dmitri, his second in command, a wad of money.

"No you're not Tyannikov, I am." Heckler said stepping forward. "That's my quarter, my table so fuck off."

"Dmitri?"

"Fifteen hundred, American."

He slapped the bills down on the table and stepped back. Salem stared at the money. It was his whole paycheck and then some. He hadn't sent his letter home yet so he could nearly cover the bet and if he won, the three grand would be the final payment. He'd be free.

"Salem?" Rios said quietly.

"Rios, I need three-fifty to cover it, bro. I can clear that debt back home."

"It's yours, Ellie."

He dug in his pocket and counted the bills out. Salem dug in his and topped the stack off, stunned and proud that Rios had obliged him so readily. Heckler stepped forward and flanked Dmitri to help hold the wager and Salem fought down not only nerves but the sickening yet wonderfully invigorating sensation of adrenalin he'd always had when betting large. This game, this moment would be taking a step back into world he'd worked so hard to get out of.

"You rack, comrade."

"My pleasure."

"Eight ball, house rules."

"As моп маленький барсук (1) wishes."

"What the fuck'r you callin' him Tyannikov?"

Vasily smiled a coy smile and shrugged at Guidry.

"Our little Russian secret. He knows I am sure, right Salem?"

"Just rack 'em tight."

"Done."

Tyannikov stepped away from the end of the table retrieved his cue stick from his man and waved to Salem to begin. Salem set the chalk aside took a long look at the end of his cue stick, walked to the table and checked that the rack was indeed tight. Then returning to his end he lifted the cue ball and gently set it in the spot he'd chosen, took a deep breath and leaned down over his cue stick. He shut out the shouts of encouragement from his team, he shut out the press of the crowd that was gathering, as is always the case in a high stakes game, he shut out the fear of losing Rios' money and he focused solely on the coming shot. It was a nine foot table, he had an excellent cue stick, and he had skill to spare, all that gave him a far better than the typical fifty percent chance of dropping the eight ball and ending the game on the break. He'd done it ten times on that table so far and he had to think that Vasily, not being an idiot, knew that. Or did he? He looked to the big Russian again and played his hole card.

"I've done it ten times so far on this table, dropped the eight on the break, and the eight in the pocket on the break wins it, да старый медведь (2)?"

He couldn't believe the look on the Russian's face. Salem might suck at poker but he could still read a face and Vasily's was telling the younger man that the he had not considered that option. Tyannikov didn't know his skill. He was only baiting him, hoping to goad him into the game then bully him into choking. The revelation fueled Salem's resolve and he felt in every fiber of his soul he'd drop the eight on the break an eleventh time. If he didn't do that then at least he had Vasily on edge.

"House rules, маленький барсук (3), house rules."

The room grew silent as Salem again leaned down and lined up his shot. Nothing around him mattered. All that mattered was the stick connecting perfectly with the ball and the eight slipping into a pocket. He took a deep breath, drew back the cue, forced down the old scary memory of being beaten by his father for losing and coming home empty handed, harnessed that fear and hate and drove the cue stick into the ball. Just like taking a shot with his light fifty, always the same method, always the same breath, always the same emotion…The cue ball shot forward and slammed into the rack with a brutal snapping crack. Salem turned from the table and sat down on a nearby stool before the eight ball even hit the bottom of the cup.

"Get my money Heck, don't count it. I'm sure Vasily wouldn't cheat me. Да старый медведь(2)?"

"Да, да.(4) Well played моп маленький барсук (1), and yes, poor Vasily is many things, but not a cheat."

The big Russian handed his cue stick to his partner, took the money from Dmitri and a hesitant Heckler then crossed to Salem. Elliot stood and Vasily handed the bills to him, then extended his big brutish hand. Salem grasped it in his freshly un-casted one; as his hazel eyes locked on the mercenaries coal black ones.

"The wrist is doing well, да?" Vasily asked without releasing him.

"Да."

Then despite his surprise at the move, Salem did not resist when Vasily dragged him into a firm embrace. Finally he released him and cupped Salem's left cheek in his coarse palm.

"You and I, моп маленький барсук(1), we are as one. You read in my dark eyes, pool, in yours, I read great loss. We have both lost all that we have ever loved. We are одиноко(5). But always, little Elliot Salem, whose name means, what...Elliot… my god is Jehovah and Salem… for complete and at peace, this world is a pitiful ironic lie. Спокойной ночи(6). We will talk again."

Then he turned and left leaving a stunned and visible shaken Salem in his wake.

As soon as the Russians cleared the center, the room burst out in raucous congratulations. Rios herded Salem to a table and beers started piling up. The victory, while a personal one for Elliot, was a huge win for the soldiers. Salem reveled in the moment and for the first time in his life the crowd admired him for doing something good.

Later back in their room Rios and Salem celebrated a bit more. They broke out their Corona and headed down to the little wall.

"Shit Ellie, what if they see us with this shit?"

"Fuck 'em Tyse, I'll just lie, I lie real good when I need to. To us."

He held up his bottle and they clinked them together.

"Us. I cannot fucking believe you sank that shot Ellie, I just can't. It was like a miracle, a message from god or something, just fucking outstanding!"

"God had nothing to do with it bro. Just a lot a hours knocking balls down at the local bar from when I was real small. Shit, you know what I think about when I take that fucking shot. I think about my old man kicking the shit outta me for coming home with no money. That and after he kicks my ass, he's gonna sell it to the highest bidder to make up for the loss. Makes a fellow pretty, pretty…ah serious I guess about getting good. Beer? Here. Use the same visual when I take a shot. Remember, hate, paint that fucker's face on the tango and…squeeze…"

Tyson sat up a bit straighter and took in the information. That got him recalling Tyannikov's words.

"Yo Elliot, Tyannikov said you guys both lost people, how'd he know that? And what was he calling you, and you calling him I guess; and why do you understand Russian? What's going on here?"

"You're drunk, jealous and babbling, Tyse…He don't, doesn't know anything about me except I shoot hellacious pool. Just a name, Little Badger, and my shooter in Bosnia, he spoke Russian. I called Vasily, Old Bear."

"Why'd he say it?"

"What?"

"About losing people, you got all pale man, it was bizarre."

"He's just being weird, he's Russian Tyse, I mean who the fuck did I ever have to lose that I'd give a rats ass about? We saw today dude, I don't even get mail."

"Don't know, girlfriend, brother, kid, wife… don't know. Maybe their gone, so no mail. Just the two of you were all… weird and shit. Be back gotta piss."

While Rios went to piss Salem dug in his wallet and slipped out a picture. He studied it in the meager light and brushed his thumbs across it tenderly. He could tell Tyson, should tell him. They were partners, brothers now and he wouldn't have to be in that dark place he kept slipping into alone. He was only twenty- two, he was a widower and had lost a daughter, and he shouldn't have to go through that alone. Yet he'd always been alone. There was safety in alone. In alone it didn't hurt to lose someone. He shivered when he remembered Tyannikov's odd embrace. It felt good. It felt too damn good, despite coming from a man who'd beaten him into near unconsciousness and snapped his wrist. He couldn't recall ever feeling that comforted in all of his life. Tyson carrying him to the infirmary after Vasily's beating came close but tonight that was different and it frightened him.

Rios plopped back down and Salem extended the photo with a trembling hand. The older man took a long swig of beer and laughed heartily.

"Yea, Ellie I was thinking while I was pissing, who the fuck am I kidding, you with a wife and family, girlfriend you damn near can't take care a yourself. What's that?"

Salem froze in place. He could have taken care of them, would have if he hadn't been in a country miles upon miles away taking care of other people. He would have died to keep them safe. That was the secret Vasily knew. Little Badger, badgers fight to the death to protect their cete, Salem would have willingly died at the big Russian's hand to save the team, his new cete and Tyannikov knew it. Rios snatched the photo and that snapped Salem back into the moment.

"Gimme." Elliot ordered.

"Who the hell is this, Elliot? God, she's beautiful and the kid's a real sweetheart."

If he told Rios what had happened to them, his wife and daughter; that the beauty had given the sweetheart and overdose of Heroin then dosed herself as well, killing them both, the man would surely say it proved his point, that Elliot was not able to care for them, those were words, true or not, he simply would not be able to hear and bear.

"Ah, no one really, sister, niece, both gone now dead. Car crash, gone. Really weren't close. Vasily, guess he's a psychic as well as an asshole. They're nobody anymore; just here gimme, I'll toss it. She was a cunt anyway. Good night."

_Louisiana 2008_

"So I blew it. I mean we were drunk; I had no reason not to believe him. His sister? Well other than the fact he'd just told me he could lie his ass off when needed. I saw his face when Vasily asked that question! Over Fifteen years of Father's days and birthdays and anniversaries. He never misses anything like that. But what galls me now, is knowing that fucking Vasily Tyannikov knew. How, I don't know, but the man did and thinking back when he said it Salem was rattled and I knew it. I should have dug deeper but who has time. The patrol came up and it was balls to the wall for a month, a month of some a the worst shit I've ever been through. Damn it how could I have been so stupid?"

"You couldn't have known and had no real reason not to believe him. Hell, I should have been more compassionate. The letter I wrote him categorically put the blame in his lap. It wasn't until months later, when I found Jenny's last letter, that I realized it had been her that got Elliot addicted to that poison, not the opposite. He was always in trouble, sure, but never for using, so I should have had a clue. But I was a father scorned and I hated the boy for not being what I thought my 'innocent' little girl deserved. I could have stepped in and kept him out of the hell hole prison but I didn't. I could have sent him into rehab with her but I didn't... Oh the mistakes we make Tyson, life is just a long road rife with trial and error. But we are all of us strong, honorable men and I think we can get things set right. We just need to be caring and patient with Elliot. We need to let him scream and fight and rage, then hold him when he's through. He's earned it, Tyson; lord knows that poor boy's earned it. Now if you don't mind, I feel a nap is in order, so make yourself to home and I'll see you for diner."


	9. Chapter 9 Brotherhood of Elves

_**The Brotherhood of Elves**_

_Note: A slow chapter but I'm still working out the kinks for the long mission. Also the timeline is rife with continuity errors. I'm not going to worry over them just now but it is possible that the events of November '93 will be shifted to November '92 and roll us into '93 Only the date changes. This brings Salem to Somalia in '93 giving a little more time to have him bond with Rios before going private._

After Hunter left him Tyson went up to their room and retrieved his laptop. Elliot was still soundly asleep and while Rios wished he too could nap he knew that this would be the perfect time to check in with Alice. He headed back down the swirling staircase and out onto the veranda.

"Tyson, finally!" Alice said heartily once the link was set up.

"Sorry Alice it's been a rough few days. How's Nayla?"

"She's great, she misses you two and is worried sick for Elliot but she's fine."

"Good, good, that's one last thing to worry over. I'll have Salem call her as soon as he's up to it."

"How is he, Tyson?"

"Not good Alice. I'm scared to fucking death."

"Where are you guys."

"Louisiana, at his father in laws."

He watched her face on the computer screen as the information sank in. There had been a brief period of time when Alice and Elliot had dated. Tyson put an end to the match before it could get too involved.

"He's married?"

"Was, and had a daughter. They died in '93."

"Oh my god how."

"Not certain, but he's never mentioned them and it's as though they just died yesterday. He's taking it very hard. The best I can figure is that Sam's words set him off; made him remember; I don't know. Anyway Hunter, the father in law, is being very kind. The two of them never got along and it's just a difficult situation. Enough about that though. Fill me in."

"Everything's good here. Heckler and Seacore are on the Danish diplomat op and it's been a smooth run so far. Stockwell just left for France to iron out the details for the escort op in South Africa and oh, the biggest situation is the new recruit, Carter Newman."

"Oh, he came in?"

"You sound disappointed."

"No just worried, it's a scary thing dragging folks into this business, Alice. What do you think?"

"I think he's a great fit. So do Stockwell and Cha Min Soo. Did you know he was washed out of flight school, choppers?"

"No, why?"

"Nothing major, his skills were top notch; he kept failing the water ditching exercise. I sent him up with Whitaker and Whit gave him control, says the kid's got good hands and instincts. We think that are best route is to send him to flight school and get him licensed we need another pilot. I've already sent him for his physicals and reserved a slot out at Brighton Aviation. His father is a great concern for him. We set it up so that he will be in rehab at the Lucerne facility while Carter is at Brighton. I kicked him double the normal signing bonus, because they had nothing and all I need is a green light from you and I'll have him sign the contracts and put him on a plane to Nevada."

"Ok, look if anything happens to him I want the old man covered head to toe Murray, make sure that's in the contract. Other than that I'll have to trust you guys' judgment. I liked the kid when I talked with him but that wasn't much. How's his marksmanship?"

"Poor, but I went down and watched Giddy test him and I think with some, one on one with Elliot he'll be fine. Elliot's a miracle worker when it comes to training shooters."

"Yea Salem is that. He just has a knack I guess. Ok make it happen. Oh and I'm not sure when but I'm gonna need a transport to the old . in North Africa sometime soon here. Get with Cha about a plane. Salem wants to go back and get his wall. That may change but just get a plan rolling. Did those new prototype communication headsets get in yet? If so get Giddy on them a.s.a.p. I want a report so I can decide to buy or not. Make sure he slams them around damn hard. What else? Oh Just before I talked to you I talked to Arthur. Samantha signed the divorce, nothing contested. Once she saw the settlement and the evidence she caved. I'll need a coupla guys out at my place to watch her move her shit out and I want Nayla to have an escort, be discrete, let the school know and what not. I don't trust that Douglas bastard. He's already mentioned taking her and Sam away before. I want her covered 24/7. Look I gotta go, unless it's critical keep me out of the loop. I don't want Salem thinking I'm back peddling on this time alone together, got it."

"Got it. Be safe send him our love. Out."

Tyson closed the computer and headed back into the house. It seemed lonely; such a big place and only four people in it. He set the laptop on a table and headed toward the kitchen. Hunter had mentioned that he had a cook slash housekeeper and some food sounded good. Salem had a meager appetite at the best of times and the pair hadn't eaten more than a bag of potato chips between them, from a gas station on the trip to Louisiana. Maybe Salem could go for days without eating but Rios was starving.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Mr. Rios, Hunter called me while I was in town and told me we had guests. Call me Quentin. What can I get for you?"

"Quentin and please it's Tyson, thank you."

"Of course, sit I have fresh coffee, or Iced Tea, or beer what can I get you?"

"You know the coffee sounds good and something to snack on. We haven't eaten since, well in a day or so and I'm starving. I'd go out but I don't want to leave Salem. He shouldn't wake up for quite a while but you never know."

"Of course, here's a cup, there's the pot help yourself, cream and sugar, or flavors are in the cupboard right above the pot."

"Black's good."

Tyson took the extra- large brightly decorated cup, filled it and sat back down at the center kitchen island.

"I just bought cold cuts and fresh tomatoes and lettuce, would a sandwich due, or I can cook you up something."

"No a sandwich would be great. Ham and cheese or something, I'm easy."

"Coming right up. Now for diner I was planning a pot roast and potatoes and French style green beans; will that be ok, does Elliot prefer anything in particular, or dislike anything I need to know about?"

"No, just don't be upset if he just picks at whatever you give him. He's not a fussy eater but he doesn't carry a big appetite."

"Certainly, but maybe you'll stay a while old Quentin can change that."

"I've been trying for years Quentin; he just doesn't worry about food. Comes in handy in our line of work but Christ the boy starves me to death sometimes."

Quentin cut Rios' sandwich in half and slid it to him before sitting down with his own cup of coffee across from him.

"Well if even half of what Elliot suffered growing up was true it's no wonder he's able to go with little food. Elliot had very little as a boy and what he did manage to get he had to figure out how to acquire it on his own."

"I knew he had it tough, but he doesn't say much about that stuff."

"Yes, no mother, useless father, kicked around from relative to relative, detention homes and foster homes; if he had gotten help and settled a bit maybe some family would have taken him on permanently but back then Elliot was a live wire. The boy was into everything from burgling, drug dealing, gambling, out -right violence you name it."

"The sandwich is good; what's the chance of having another?"

"Of course, of course."

"You seem to know a lot about him."

Quentin chuckled, "Well before I was Hunter's cook so to speak, before we came here, I was a judge in juvenile court. I am well versed in your Elliot's criminal history. My court room door was a revolving one for the boy from the time he was six or so. Here you go."

"Jesus, I knew he had it tough, hell I had it tough but that's just crazy."

"No, what's crazy is that both Hunter and I have lost children to drugs and crime. It's a bitter irony that Elliot, who we vilified, has survived and apparently flourished. I spent a lifetime prosecuting and sentencing the bad kids, the lower income kids, the ones from as they say _the other side of the tracks_; and Hunter defended the worst of the worst criminals, yet he refused to help Elliot, who needed him so badly at the time. I pleaded for them not to send him to an adult facility, pleaded with Hunter to defend him but they were fed up with his habitual offending and tried him as an adult. Hunter, well he saw it as a way to get Jenny away from him for good. I pushed for the boy to be allowed in the Armies recruiting program and it worked. All the while we sent our little darlings to private schools and tried to insulate them from the seedier element of life. It did us no good.

Poor Jennifer began taking drugs early on at High Willow Academy. Hunter put her in treatment, oh I don't know how many times, and she always slipped right back into the lifestyle. My son pretty much the same. They had money to burn and the used it for partying and drugs. My son Tad is serving a twenty year sentence for vehicular homicide. He killed a family of four while driving high on Methamphetamine shortly after Jenny died and well Jenny, she just didn't take to being alone, Elliot kept shipping out and she refused to come home here. When Ellie started kindergarten Jen fell in with a bad bunch on the base and started using the Heroin again. Then after talking to Elliot and being told he wasn't coming home for Christmas again and that he'd be gone for an unspecified length of time, she killed herself and sweet little Ellie with an overdose out of despair I suppose. Hunter wrote to him to tell him; blaming him for all of it. Then we found out later it was her that had addicted Elliot to the Heroin, Hunter was devastated that he'd blamed him. Tired of the system and just plain worn out we retired and came here. We never heard from Elliot aside from one phone call that first Christmas of '93 and the money he sent home to cover the funeral. $12,500.00 and he paid every cent of it."

"Thanks for catching me up. Hunter didn't really say much and Elliot's in no shape to tell the story. I knew he was paying down a debt but he never said what it was."

"It didn't surprise me, that he paid it. I spoke with him when he returned from Basic Training. He looked wonderful. He was so proud of himself and proud that he could take care of Jenny and Ellie. His girls, he'd call them. I tried to smooth things with Hunter but he wouldn't budge. So they married at the Justice of the Peace and he took them away. One thing I was certain of though Tyson, as hard of a young man that Elliot had been forced to become, he somehow retained a vast capacity to love anyone he chose to let into his great heart. I see, through the depth of your dedication to him, that it is still the case. Now if you'll excuse me I need to get a few loads of laundry started and begin diner. Do you think Elliot will be joining us?"

"No, sir. I figure he'll be down until nine or ten tomorrow morning. Thanks for the lunch. I'm gonna refill my coffee and go check on him."

"Wonderful. There is a small coffee service in the turret room at the end of the hall. There will be coffee there as well."

Back up in the room Rios laid the back of his hand along Salem's cheek to check for a fever. He didn't know why but it just seemed necessary. Mostly it just felt good to make contact with the wayward man. He stirred slightly, coughed but didn't wake. Content that he was comfortable Rios unpacked their stuff, showered, refilled his mug and settled into the window seat with his coffee.

He went over all the bits and pieces of information he'd gleaned about Elliot from Hunter and Quentin. So many parts of the puzzle of Salem were clicking into place. He took a long sip from the mug and studied the floral design. It was poppies growing out of bright yellow pots, with the words _Have a Great Day_ below them. Rios smiled, closed his eyes and slipped back to Somalia, Christmas '93. Salem had only been there about seven weeks. He was still on the outs with Rios and the team, still working on getting stronger and they'd still not gone on their first mission yet. He'd begun light training and shown them that he was a fine shot. But the situation was less than tenable. Salem ate alone, drank alone, worked out alone and for the most part outside of any group activity stayed away from the surly men.

Rios looked over at Elliot on the bed and shook his head.

"Yea, Kermit we certainly didn't give you a very pleasant welcome did we?"

_**Somalia December '93**_

"Yo Salem, get you scrawny ass in gear; it's time for your fucking mid-day shake and feeding!" Rios hollered sticking his head into their room.

"I'm up. I'm reading my FM 23-10."

"You're reading what?"

"Sniper Tactics Manual, dumb ass."

"Right, like you can even read you fucking little prick, hurry up."

Salem dropped down from his bunk and grabbed his battered soft cap off his desk. He stuck it on his head backwards and stepped out into the hallway. Rios was talking to Guidry about the following night's Christmas party at the rec center so he leaned back against the wall and waited. Rios finally turned around and Salem stood up straight and headed down the hall. But before he got three steps ahead of Rios the big man snatched him back by the collar of his shirt, tore the cap and some hair from his head and dragged him to the floor. Salem jumped up, turned, stepped in and shoved the big man back hard.

"What the fuck! Gimme my hat! It's my lucky hat, you fat fucker. I've had it for years. Give it over."

"Take your fucking cover off in my building, Corporal! I've warned you, and told you to get a new one, now this one's history."

"Fuck you and your building you big dick!" Salem hollered going after Rios again and grabbing at the hat which the much taller man was holding up as high as possible.

"Giddy, catch. God I love how your voice gets squeaky when you're pissed, Salem it's adorable."

Giddy caught the cap and tucked it away. Salem managed to land a punch to Rios' chin then another to his sternum, before the big man danced away and popped him in the right side of his face and in the nose. Salem recovered and dove back in, blood gushing from his nose and lips, and drove Tyson back into their room. The two tumbled to the floor and Salem scrambled up onto Tyson's waist and let fly with a barrage of punches to the Sergeant's head before Giddy pulled him up and away, dragging him back into the hallway and pinning him against the wall.

"Salem, stop it boy, that's enough. I have it; I'll give it back to you later. Just get another one and go eat."

"No! It's mine Guidry and I want it now. He's got no right! Fuckin' half a these assholes wear them inside and he only picks on me. Gimme my god damned hat!"

"Fuck you, you little shit. I think you broke my nose."

"Enough, Tyson; shit the both of you are gonna end up spending Christmas in the brig. Enough already. I have the hat; go to the infirmary get your nose looked at, Rios. I'll take Salem to chow and…"

"What and tell 'em I let that little bitch break my nose. No fucking way. I'll take him to eat and then I'll take him to buy a new fucking soft cap. I do not want to see that beat to hell piece a shit on his head again. Giddy my hand now! Am I clear Corporal?"

Salem glared at Rios. He'd had that hat since Ranger school and Sniper school it was a good luck charm. He turned and stormed back into the room tore open his locker and grabbed his other cap. Orders were orders, hopefully Rios wouldn't toss it and if he behaved the big sergeant just might give it back when he cooled down. He dragged a towel across his face to remove most of the blood and went back into the hallway.

"Let's move out my shake's melting."

They went to the chow hall and Rios watched Salem force the shake and light brunch down. Then he escorted the younger man to the clothing store to get another cap. They were back at the barracks just in time for the mid-day training session. The group once again discussed coming mission and when the room cleared Benedict called Rios aside.

"What happened?" He asked reaching up and touching Rios' swollen nose.

"He had his hat on inside again and he refuses to get a new one."

"Looked like he had a new one on just now."

"Yea, I forced him."

"You hit him?"

"Top, I have asked him over and over not to do it. He just does it to goad me. He's like that."

"Rios, to lead you need to learn how to read your men. Salem is not the only man to wear his cover in that building. I need you two on the same page next week when we go out. I don't care how you manage it but find a way to get along."

"Maybe I'll find a way to wash him out."

"You even think it, Sergeant Rios and I'll have your stripes in a heartbeat. He's one of us Rios get used to the idea. Oh, did you invite him to the party?"

"No, he knows it's going down; he can come or not it's up to him."

"Invite him and Rios review your Sniper Tactics Manuel, he's hinted that you might be a little rusty on a few counts."

Later that night Rios laid propped in his bunk reading through the little manual. The first section he read was discussing the important considerations that a commander should follow when choosing a candidate for Sniper training.

"Does this ring a bell, Kermit?" he snapped punching upwards at Salem's mattress.

"_Section 1-3_

_Some traits to look for are reliability, initiative, loyalty, discipline, and emotional stability. A psychological evaluation of the candidate can aid the commander in the selection process."_

How the hell did you get past that one? Discipline, emotional stability right; that's you in a nut shell, Salem."

"That's not the one they figured I was best at. Section 1-3 part B item number one:

_(1) __**Emotional balance.**__ The sniper must be able to calmly and_

_deliberately kill targets that may not pose an immediate threat to him._

_It is much easier to kill in self-defense or in the defense of others than it_

_is to kill without apparent provocation. The sniper must not be_

_susceptible to emotions such as anxiety or remorse_. 1

That's the one they really liked me for. Don't ever forget it."

"Right. You have the FM memorized, Salem?"

"Yup, cover to cover. It's my bible. Good night."

The following day the team was off and most of the men began celebrating early. The rec center was full and food and drinks flowed freely. Salem stayed in his room only leaving late in the evening to make use of the telephone service. He had two calls to make and then he'd be completely through with any ties to home.

He signed in and waited his turn. He was anxious and found himself repeating Part B Number 1 over and over in his head. Finally it was his turn and he stepped into the carol, lifted the receiver and dialed a number he'd not dialed in years. The phone rang six times before a slurred voice answered it.

"Yea? Who the fuck's this?'

"Dad?"

"Elliot?"

"Just wanted to say Merry Christmas, and I'm ok."

"Their dead, Jen and Ellie."

"I know, dad."

"You never could get anything right, asshole. A widower and lost a kid already! You back in prison yet? Army run you off?"

"Nope, I'm still in. A corporal now, sniper, Ranger, I'm doing good my new team really likes me. I just wanted to say Merry Christmas. My girls are gone, I don't have nobody else dad."

"Tough shit kid and fuck Christmas. I gotta go. Got a buyer beatin' down the door."

The line went dead and Salem sighed. He pulled himself together and dialed the second number.

"Bathington residence."

Salem froze. The voice sounded tired and sad but it was unmistakably his father in law.

"Hello, hello who is this?"

"Mr. Bathington, s'me sir, Elliot." He said weakly hating the tremor he heard in his voice.

"Oh dear god, Elliot. Where are you, how are you, Oh Elliot. Talk to me son I…"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sending the money, I'll take care of them, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Elliot, hush Elliot it's not your fault, Elliot son listen to me, I was wrong, Elliot where are you stationed? Elliot please, I am so sorry for the letter I…"

"I'm sorry, all my fault, I'm sorry. Good- bye."

He was sobbing. He hadn't cried for their deaths he'd held it in, tamped it down, drank away the pain when he could and tried to just focus on getting the team to accept him. But everything was failing. He dropped the receiver and fled from the room. The cool night air shocked him a bit and he wiped at his face to clear away the tears. He could hear the celebration in the rec center and despite willing away the disappointment at not being able to attend the party a fresh round of tears burst free and he stumbled away towards the barracks.

"Elliot, Salem, hey man, hey!"

"Top."

Benedict grabbed his elbow and looked down into his face.

"Salem, shit what's wrong? Come with me son, come on."

He led him away to the picnic table in front of the barracks and sat him down. The young man was trembling and his eyes were bloodshot from crying. Benedict had been in the military long enough to know that the holidays were a tough time for some folks and the threat of suicide was always higher. He'd lost a young soldier several years ago because he'd failed to read the warning signs and he was not about to lose another.

"Talk." It was an order and Salem actually flinched at the snapped command.

"Just between us. No one else Top swear it."

"Yea, of course."

"I got a letter, when I got out of the woods in Bosnia."

He reached into his pocket, dragged out a tattered envelope and handed it to Benedict.

The Sergeant opened it and read the contents, slowly refolded it and handed it back.

"I was supposed to get to go home. She was, they were excited, would have been our first Christmas all of us together. I was gonna buy my little Ellie a bike I…When I called and said they changed it I guess she didn't like that and well…"

"I'm so sorry, Elliot. You don't have to suffer this alone."

"No, I'm ok now. No one's to know; no-one, not ready for that. I'm just sad. Party sounds fun but I can't do that, I tried to talk to my old man but he blew me off to sell some crack. I called her dad to say I was sorry, and I guess it just all made me upset. I'm good now; just gonna hit the sack."

Gabe sighed and pulled Salem into an embrace. "I'm here ok, Sully's here, Giddy we're ready whenever you are. Go on then get some sleep."

Salem pulled away and stood up. "Hell, I never believed in Santa Clause anyway, never seemed to make it by our house. Good night."

Salem went inside, showered and crawled into bed. He read from his FM 23-10 until he fell asleep around 2200 hours.

Tyson stumbled in about three hours later drunk and happy. He turned on the lights and banged around the bathroom taking a shower without any regard for the sleeping Salem. When he opened his locker to find a pair of sweat pants to sleep in he stumbled across Salem's hat. He tossed it aside and flicked his middle finger at the sleeper. As far as he was concerned the kid would get the hat back over his dead body.

Rios was up early despite his late night and was surprised to find a small box wrapped with a bow on his desk. He picked it up and read the gift label.

_Merry Christmas Tyse_

_Salem_

"What the hell?"

He set it back down and checked to see if Salem was still asleep. He was on his right side facing the wall but wasn't asleep. His breathing told Rios he was faking. Carefully he un-wrapped the gift and opened the box. It was a large coffee mug with a photograph of the team after a mission on one side and on the back a list of all of their names and above the picture _Rios _with Sergeant's stripes on each side of it.

He felt horrible when he read through the team and didn't find Salem's name.

"Yo, Salem." He said softly, squeezing the man's left shoulder and shaking him gently.

"Merry Christmas, Tyse." He muttered rolling onto his back.

"Thanks man, it's great. You're not here though. What gives?"

Salem shrugged, yawned, sat up and swung his legs off the bed. He stretched then scratched gently at the scars where the animal trap had punctured his calf.

"It's for you guys. I'm not really here yet. 'Sides we don't have a picture with me. It's for your team, Tyse."

"Right, well Merry Christmas, and hey thanks really it's great."

About thirty minutes later Benedict was awakened by loud shouting coming from the squad's common area. He jumped out of his bunk, and went out of the room nearly tripping on a small gaily wrapped gift. He picked it up and headed down the hallway. Along the way the rest of the guys were doing the same thing. He stopped short and stared. The little Christmas tree they'd put up was surrounded by gifts and along the wall, where their pitiful excuse of a television used to be, sat a forty two inch projection set.

"What in the hell?"

Rios stepped up beside him with his mug in hand and surveyed the chaos. The men were ecstatic about the T.V. and tearing open the small boxes they'd found outside their doors.

Heckler got into his first. "Oh man this is cool, check this shit out. It's us on a mug and my name, Heck, and us."

"They're from Salem." Mendelssohn shouted incredulously. "Salem did this. It says…

_Merry Christmas D-Men_

_Salem _

I like that, D-Men that's catchy. I never had a nickname before. Fuck it's like getting two presents!"

"What about all those under the tree and the television, Giddy?"

"All these say Santa Clause Top, and so does the television."

"Go get him, Tyson."

Rios headed back to the room but Salem was gone. He'd managed to get out of the window and scale the wall avoiding the commotion in the common area.

"He's gone; he must've gone out the window. What now?"

"Can we open 'em Top, can we?" Heckler asked excitedly.

"Yea, I suppose so. That's why he bought them. Giddy pass them around."

The squad opened the gifts and showed them off to one another. None were big or fancy but they all seemed just right for the man receiving them. Little things, gun cleaning kits and boxes of flavored coffee. For Guidry there was a set of books he'd admired when in the PX one day, and for Pedro a cherry wood crucifix and even Franklin, Bentley, King and Forman received gifts especially suited to them despite their distance from Salem. Each man had five presents plus his mug. Each man could not recall a happier Christmas away from home.

"Salem's not on our mug, Top." Pedro finally said.

"No, Pedy, I see that."

"I asked him Top, this morning when I opened mine in the room. He said they're for us, that he wasn't one of us yet, and we don't have a picture with him."

"No I suppose we don't. I'd like to know where he got this picture from. It's the one off my office wall. He must have snuck it out and in."

"Yea, but Top, that's minor. Where the hell'd he get the television from?"

"Why the fuck are you all looking at me? How should I know, Giddy?" Rios shouted.

"I don't know gentlemen and I am not sure I want to. Heckler hook it up, Pedro get this mess cleaned up and everyone enjoy your day. Rios see if you can track him down and do me a favor; he was out of sorts last night, some stuff from back home. Try and keep tabs on him. We don't need another Daniels on our hands."

Rios made the rounds but didn't find Salem. Finally around 0100 he turned up drunk and seemingly no worse for wear. Rios stood up and followed him down the hallway to their room.

"You ok?"

"Yea. They love the T.V."

"Yea, they loved all of it, everything. Where you been, I was worried."

"Around."

"Try not to disappear on me like that, ok?"

"Sure. Stoli?"

"Where'd you cop that from?"

"Around."

Rios took a swig of the vodka and handed the bottle back to Salem.

"God that's rank."

"Gets the job done."

"Yea, oh here."

Rios stood and opened up his locker. He took out the old cap and held it out to Salem.

"Sorry, I was an asshole. Wear it for as long as it holds together. I guess your luck's my luck too, right."

Salem took the cap and was visibly relieved. He flipped it over and looked inside of it.

"I saw that, girlfriend?"

Salem studied the fading heart drawn in permanent marker. "No, just a girl I never really got to know well. Thanks for giving it back. Means I won't have to tell Colonel Dalton that you ripped that Television off from the SSC guys. Goodnight."

_**Louisiana 2008**_

Tyson finished the coffee and took the cup down to the little day kitchen and rinsed it out. He returned to the bedroom, stretched out carefully alongside Salem and rolled onto his right side to watch him sleep. He relaxed, matched his breathing to Elliot's and was asleep in minutes.

This comes from the Field Manual 23-10 issued in 1994. I will post a complete bibliography when I untangle the information.


	10. 10 A Brotherhood of Disciplinarians

_Note 1: After a marathon of Solitaire I think I've broken this mess open. I'm going to change up the pattern a bit. It occurred to me that we really haven't heard from Salem. I think that is what's bogging me down. Sure he's been in a bit of a fugue state, withdrawn and sullen but he's going to wake up in Louisiana rested and see the world with a different and possibly dangerous vision. Or at best we'll see a bit of his latent cynicism. I'm going to switch to a first person POV for him at some point, a dangerous and often lethal blow to _a story _but I think it needs to happen for us to get a look at what's going on with him past_ _and present._ _I liked his "Notes" in __The 40__th__. Day. __So this will be a sort of mental notebook. Rios talks and I think Salem listens. Salem talks and I have the idea he gets tuned out so I can see him lying awake running his problems around and around in his head. Also the time frame is going to jump around a bit. This parallel story line is a pain and now I see gaps that need to be filled. I think it is a manageable situation and segues should be understandable. That said let's turn this thing on its ear!_

_Note 2: Ok I didn't get to the POV shift; as usual the story grew legs. _

_DISCLAIMER: The mission stuff is off the cuff, out of my imagination and based upon what info I manage to dig up. Do not slay me for inaccuracies, just email corrections, I am an avid listener._

_**Chapter Ten**_

_**A Brotherhood of Disciplinarians **_

Salem awoke to the early morning sun twinkling between the slightly drawn blinds of the bay window. He forced himself to remain still while willing away the anxiety coursing through his body. Bathington's place, Louisiana, the cemetery, the visions clicked through his mind like an oddly disjointed slide show. The day before was a near loss memory wise. He recalled the cemetery, recalled breaking down and agreeing to come to Bathington's, but the day before that and the week prior to that day…they were a gray whirling blur of fragmented, painful snippets. The only absolute memory he had was of thinking that Rios had betrayed him and the sound of Samantha's words, words that still echoed around his skull_. "I'd rather she'd died then carry the stain of that monster's murderous breath in her soul!"_ He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed down the bile rising in his throat.

"Yea, Samantha," he thought to himself, "if only you knew the pain that wish would bring you. Or would it Sam? For Tyse, yea but you, I don't know."

He was stiff. That told him he'd slept soundly. He wasn't one to thrash about and sprawl in a bed; but when he awoke stiff like he was now it signaled a deep, deathlike sleep born of complete physical and emotional exhaustion. That worried Elliot and he hoped that the missing bits of memory weren't rife with screw ups and social gaffs as far as Bathington was concerned. If his memory served him even somewhat well, his old foe had been nothing but gracious and compassionate.

Once he'd calmed down he noted the slow, even, sonorous breaths that he'd recognize anywhere as Rios'. He was still sound asleep and for that Salem was grateful. He needed a few minutes alone to sort himself out. Carefully he rolled onto his back and looked up at the ornate plaster ceiling designed with swirls and intricate brocades obviously the work of an experienced craftsman. Elliot let his eyes chase around the patterns for a bit trying to silence the sound of Samantha's and his own reproachful voices. What had he ever created? By his own admission he loved blowing things up. He sighed saddened by the idea that he'd probably never actually create a ceiling or anything else for that matter, aside from creating chaos in some poor fool's life. The only good thing he had created, his daughter, was gone. He hated that his memory plagued him like it did. An insult or churlish comment would scurry round and round his head for days on end tormenting him, but a compliment, the negative quashed and trundled a compliment underfoot immediately.

"And you wonder Rios, why I drink myself blind on a far too regular basis."

Pushing the heavy comforter and blankets off, he slid from the big bed, stood up, stretched and crossed to the window. Below, the verdant yard spread out before him and the pink morning sunlight glimmered off the meandering eddies swirling in the river. Looking back over his shoulder he saw that Rios had rolled onto his back but still slept, his thick left arm thrown haphazardly across the very spot Salem just vacated. That got him moving; he pissed, splashed water on his stubble covered face, dragged his fingers through his hair, threw on his hat and the huge yellow sweatshirt he'd _borrowed_ from Tyson and slipped silently from the bedroom with his sneakers in hand.

In the wide hallway Salem was surprised to smell coffee. He tracked the comforting aroma to the quaint turret shaped room at the end of the hall. After a look over his shoulder he stepped in and marveled at the tiny, convenient kitchenette. He assumed it was there to keep folks from trudging downstairs for snacks and drinks in the night. Rich folks and their creature comforts; this was what his father considered a Wonder Bread man neighborhood. Chuckling lightly he grabbed a cup from the dish drain and filled it.

"_Have a great day_," He sneered reading the message before sipping from the cheerful cup. "Right, every day's a great day like I need fucking wisdom from a stupid cup"

The coffee and a warm croissant with cream cheese in hand, he headed down the winding ornate stairs, through the main house and exited silently through one of the extra-large French doors leading to the yard. As Salem walked timidly down the brick pathway he relished the cool morning air was and the smell of fresh grass and river water. He turned to see if anyone was watching him, but saw no one. Reassured of his solitude he continued along taking in the fresh smell of the moist roses, and eating as he strolled. The croissant filled his belly and the coffee warmed him against the chill; half way to the dock he paused and studied the stand of willows bordering the lawn. He began to step from the path and stopped just beyond the row of roses. Elliot looked back at the house, took another tentative step in the lush grass and halted again. It seemed wrong somehow as if possibly you were supposed to stay on the brick pathway. He looked again at the big house, strained with a practiced eye to see movement or a glimmer in any of the windows saw none and continued on. The row of roses and benches was now forty yards behind him and the shady willow was about fifty away. He was midway and suddenly felt exposed and horribly vulnerable. His heart began to race and sweat broke out on his forehead. He'd seen no sign prohibiting walking on the beautiful lawn but seeing his deep footprints marring the voluminous grass worried him.

"There you fuckin' go again, Elliot fucking stuff up. Shit."

He turned annoyed at his foolish desire to sit beneath the grand trees and backtracked making certain to step only in the already wallowed out footprints. Once on the pathway he continued along briskly until he reached the dock. A flock of ducks, flushed by his appearance, skipped off across the water breaking the morning's silence with loud quacking. Elliot sat down on one of the two large swinging seats at the end of the dock, settled comfortably with his feet up and took in the cool damp, morning breeze.

Up in the mansion Hunter and Quentin watched Elliot navigate the lawn from the kitchen window. They stood far enough back that he couldn't see them through the light tinting. Upstairs Rios stirred awake when he noticed Salem's side of the big bed was empty. He hopped up and headed for the bathroom. On the way he peered out of the blinds and saw Elliot ambling along the pathway. He watched him stop, head onto the lawn then turn and retreat to the brick walk. Reassured that he was safe Rios took the time to shave and went downstairs.

"Morning, sorry about dinner, I guess I knocked out. Must have needed the sleep."

"Grab some coffee and a croissant Tyson and don't worry over dinner, Quentin's pot roast is always better the second day anyway."

"Did you talk to Salem?" Rios asked pouring his coffee and choosing a warm raisin croissant from the platter.

"No he slipped out. We didn't even hear him. He's quite stealthy your, Elliot."

"Stealth doesn't even begin to describe, Salem. He's a damned ghost when he wants to be."

He joined the two men in the spot where they could see Elliot swinging on the dock.

"I see. Well, Tyson excuse me for asking but exactly what is it you two do? You really never got around to telling us."

Rios pondered the question. It had to come up eventually but he hated that so many people jumped to the wrong conclusion about their work. Once they'd left SSC they'd tried very hard to do missions that were positive, steering clear of outright assassinations, and the murky dirty work. The plan didn't always succeed and that was where the gray began to slip in. The gray that it seemed, year by year was wearing the pair down. Salem, at least on the surface, seemed to manage the gray better than Rios. He didn't talk about 'work'. Work was an off limits topic. The young man just bottled up the grim realities of the job and marched forward in whatever direction Rios aimed him. It was that containment of anxiety, guilt and grief that the psychiatrist told Rios was tearing Salem up. The man needed to vent and after enough emotional strain filled him up he'd do just that, often with disastrous results. Rios, conversely, simply spooned the gray onto Salem's plate and kept pretending his was sparkly clean.

He watched Salem swinging peacefully and decided the truth was probably the best route to take. No point in candy coating the facts. They killed for money.

"We, I took an opportunity, after the Army, to go into private security work. The money was excellent and hell it wasn't like either of us knew how to do anything else besides kill people and blow stuff up anyway."

"Oh I see, like mercenaries."

"No, at least that's not what we wanted, well honestly not what Salem wanted. For me it just seemed like the easiest path to follow."

"And Elliot was drawn along?"

"That's the odd thing Hunter, no not at first. He turned and walked away from the offer. In hind sight it was a bold move on his part. From the time I'd first met Salem he been attached to my fucking hip. Oh excuse my language."

"Oh no problem, we live a tad high on the hog but we can talk a foul streak when the time calls for it. Please just be yourselves."

"Right, well I tried my damnedest for the first two months we were partners to get rid of the little bastard. He wouldn't budge. And you have to figure he was dealing with the deaths of Jennifer and Ellie too. I put that boy through holy hell and got the squad to hate him too. So when it finally comes time for us to ETS about a year and a half later, well get out, we get this invite to go private. We argued about the SSC offer for weeks. I finally told him 'Look Salem unless you have a better plan; lead, follow or get the fuck out of my way.' Well he got out of the way. I went to SSC and he, in spectacular Salem fashion, got out of the way and with no one to lead him… well it wasn't pretty."

"So you're still with this SSC?" Quentin asked.

"No, they went under in '05, we uncovered that they were leaking intell about U.S. troop movements causing ambushes and failed missions in order to make the PMC's look better, more efficient the U.S. troops, and we took them down . We started T.W.O. with the support of some friends so we own ourselves now."

"Oh, the Senator Whitehorse debacle?"

"Yup, Hunter we were smack in the middle of it. Nearly got killed for our efforts too."

Hunter sat and digested the information. He did not entirely approve but his opinion on the subject was a moot point. All he cared about was getting to know Elliot and making amends for how he'd treated him.

"So he still follows you blindly; forever drawn inexplicably along by the dark current of Tyson Rios."

"Excuse me?"

"No, excuse me. I'm just thinking. Your name, _Tyson Rios_, Tyson means the dark one, the thunderous one, and Rios well that's river basically. I watched him walk down the pathway earlier, he wanted to step off and go his own way, sit in the serene shade of the Willows but in the end it was the security of the path and the dark turbulent river that drew him along. I guess that's you. You are the powerful one, always drawing him along in your wake. Those eddies, they appear gentle, just swirling along, but they are surprisingly powerful."

"And that is hilariously ironic, Hunter." Rios said bursting out in deep baritone laughter.

"I'm sorry?"

"No, in a good way I guess. Before we left to come here, the night I got him out of jail; he wanted to go surfing in the dark. I hate when he does that. Anyway he slams some beers on an empty stomach and in no time he's babbling about me being a rip current and him the beach and vice versa and making all these water allusions and I don't even think Salem knows an allusion from and illusion. Now here you are doing the same thing. Maybe, just maybe there's something to it. But for certain there's something else as well gentlemen, for all his bluster and rebellion Salem hates to disappoint someone he cares for or cares for him and he hates to be in trouble with them despite always seeming to find some. I'm guessing he was just as afraid he'd get a good ass chewing for mucking up your perfect blades of grass as he was of walking away from me. So step easy around him or trust me he will shut down."

"Well put and consider it done. Now that said how do you think I should approach him. I do not want to be the one mucking this up, embracing him means too much to me."

Tyson pondered the query. The first thought that came to mind was Gabe Benedict. Gabe had a way of managing Salem through the good stuff and the bad. Tyson, for the most part, copied the old sergeant's methods but had Salem's odd blind devotion as a booster. He recalled a situation in March of '93 and told the story.

_**Somalia March 1993**_

"Salem, take point."

"Top?"

"Point, soldier now."

Salem furrowed his brow at the odd command, looked at an equally confused Rios and scrabbled up the gravel berm and into position at the apex of the five man wedge formation and about forty yards ahead of it. It wasn't that he was afraid of the assignment it just was not his usual role. As he crept along he tried to tune out the sound of the squad's feet crunching gravel behind him as they moved slowly across the open tract of desert. He worried for Rios at the rear of the wedge, alone and without him to watch his back. Seventy yards forward he stopped, squatted, signaled the squad to halt, took out his binoculars and scanned the wide open terrain. They were sitting ducks out there and he wanted to take them on an alternate route along a low gully wash that would flank their objective. He keyed his mic and called for Benedict.

"Top, two clicks south east of us, if we trail along this ridge, there's a long shallow gully wash, it'll give us a bit of cover. Switch up to a double echelon formation go that route. I'm not liking what I see down this next ridge. It's a kill zone, dead flat, no cover, just sparse light brush."

"Two clicks, that's four total out and back on line again, negative no time, just scan it good and take us down. Intell didn't show hostiles in this quadrant aside from the shepherds in the village with the cache."

"Roger that."

So he scanned the wash again and signaled the squad forward. Fifty yards out onto the wash he stopped again, halted the squads and scanned the area once more. It was too flat, too clean, almost as though the rebels had swept it for observation. Every nerve in his body was screaming for him to find a better way but orders were orders. He shrugged his shoulders adjusting the weight of his light fifty feeling as though even broken down the damned big weapon was sticking out like a lone Redwood tree on the arid plain. If he'd been alone or even just him and Rios he wouldn't worry as much. But he had nine guys stacked in dual wedge formations trudging along behind him and to Salem's ears, trained to mute even the tiniest of his own and Rios' sounds while listening for the enemy's; the horde of guys trailing him sounded like a herd of buffalo.

Salem moved them out once more, the sound of his own heartbeat loud in his ears. He started a bit when Benedict cued him on his ear piece.

"Distance out?"

Salem looked at his watch, calculated his paces and keyed his mic. Well this at least was something he was certain of. Land navigation was his specialty.

"Three and a half clicks, and slightly, say fifteen degrees to our north west. I'll bear us back round on target as we walk."

"Roger that, can we make a little better time?"

Salem cringed, as it was he felt they were pushing their luck.

"I don't advise it but it's your call."

"No corporal, you're on point it's your call."

Salem seethed. Why was Benedict baiting him out in such an exposed situation? He calculated their ETA to the objective, time for the mission and the needed to meet the extraction window. Top was correct. They needed to pick up the pace but Salem's gut screamed that it was not safe to do so; that the time would need to made up some other way. He scanned the ground again and sighed.

"Roger that, I'll find a way; but for the record something aint right out there."

Annoyed he signaled them to move out and picked up his pace. They stalked along a bit quicker and it seemed as though his concerns had been unfounded. Several cautious halts later, the precious time caught up and with less than a click to go Salem started up the slight rise that would bring the team to bear on its objective; a small settlement that sources and aerial surveillance claimed was housing medium sized arms and mortars for the rebels.

He squatted down before sky-lighting himself on the ridge line and signaled for the men to halt some fifty yards back. Binoculars in hand he scanned to target. The settlement was small and several armed men wandered the singular dirt path that bisected it south east to north west. Everything matched the surveillance photos that he'd studied. It was nothing but an assortment of mud hovels centered on a communal well. He saw no women or children only a handful of armed men walking as if on half- hearted guard duty. Salem was young but in Bosnia he'd learned that appearances could deceive. He keyed his mic.

"Objective in sight. Appears to be just as the intell suggested. I count eight to ten adult males armed with…probably old AK's. Locals, non-military."

"Roger that, we'll go with the simple pincer attack as planned. I'm sending Giddy round now to close off the northwest egress. He'll have the better cover. Let's just play it like we planned. Takes us in Corporal Salem."

Salem scrutinized the terrain once more for threats with the eyes of a trained sniper, stowed the binoculars, clicked open his acog sight's caps, double checked his M16's magazine and signaled the squad forward, down onto the final flat between them and the village.

Seventy yards later he felt the first round zing past his right cheek then the second one plowed into his back just below his right shoulder blade. His vest took the hit but the impact of the medium caliber round slung him around counterclockwise nearly 360 degrees. Before he fell he watched in horror as at least twenty tangos leapt up from their sand and dry brush warrens and rushed the squad. He scrambled to stand but another shot, this time to his left front shoulder spun him back away from the fire fight. He rolled and brought his weapon up just as one of the men rushed at him. Blinded by pain, and the wind knocked from his lungs Salem fired at the blurry machete wielding figure and watched his chest explode. He made it to his knees and instead of firing into the fray to his rear and risking catching the squad in a cross fire he instead turned and focused on the group of men rushing their position from the village. He knew that Giddy was also engaged but in fair cover to his right flank and watched the small cluster of armed villagers split, half heading to Giddy and the other toward him.

He slid down just below the ridge and took aim with his M16. Just as he fired his first round he heard the familiar whump of a mortar firing. He ducked down as the shell impacted just behind him but short of Benedict's position. They'd missed but if they were good they'd figure the range out soon enough. Ignoring the pain searing his ribs and shoulder and the thought that he'd let the team down Salem took aim and began eliminating the rushing men. The M16 wasn't as accurate as his fifty but he made quick work of the charging men. Another two mortars smashed down somewhat closer to the confrontation to his six and he decided to move to his left, south, get clear of the melee, pull out the fifty and take the mortar position out. There was no time to clear it with Benedict so he just acted.

Thirty paces left there was a crater where one of the failed mortar rounds had hit. He low crawler over, wallowed down into it and un- packed the fifty. Just as he was setting the bipod on the rim of the berm Rios squawked in on his headset.

"Where you at, Kermit?"

"Not a good time, Tubby. Top a the ridge, your eleven o-clock, gonna cap that mortar son of a bitch. You?"

"Fuck that man; you are alone up there, fall back, fall back."

"Fuck that."

He ducked as a shell shot over his position and landed just behind him out of range but still spraying him with debris.

"That mortar's got us pinned has to go. Out"

"We are at best 150 yards to your six now and falling back, Salem!"

"Well then you're still in range."

In the corner of his right eye he saw a shell hit frightfully close to Giddy's position, he clicked open the sights on the big rifle and searched out the target. He found it as the next shell launched. Ignoring the round coming his way he settled, took aim, adjusted his sights, went through his mental and physiological procedure and squeezed the trigger. He missed. Furious with what he considered his second failure of the mission he grit his teeth took aim again and through the sight watched the mortar gunner align the weapon on his position. Adrenalin drove away the pain, and fear threatening to undo him. He steadied himself, repeated the procedure, noting that the gunner was not a Somali but as white as a man could be and smoothly squeezed the trigger before the merc could squeeze his; then watched, relieved as his target pin wheeled backwards and down with the side of his head missing.

He readied the weapon to fire again and turned back toward Benedict's position. Through the dust he could see that they were regrouping and with the villagers now on the retreat Benedict was preparing the squad to advance into the settlement.

"Top, I am in place for defensive sniper cover, mortar is eliminated, advise."

"Hold that position but be aware they are retreating back through your six. Copy?"

"Copy and holding."

As he waited Salem encountered resistance from enemies trying to retreat back to the village. He bayonetted two securing his position then focused on observing the settlement. They were setting up a second offensive position and arming it with multiple RPG's.

Giddy was moving forward somewhat ahead of Benedict's squad. Salem could see the formation moving at good speed and un- hindered down and across the wash.

"Giddy, Giddy slow up you are out ahead of Top slow up. They are setting RPG's You need to wait on Top."

"Roger that, take those fuckers down, Salem."

"Consider it done."

Salem took aim, ignoring the squad of men dropping down to his right along the edge of the berm. Rios sidled over to his position and dragged out his spotter's scope.

"You got him?"

"Got him, boss."

He squeezed the trigger and the first RPG dropped.

"Going for number two. Can't fucking believe they're side by side. Oh, he's moving. Wait for it." Then keying his mic. "Giddy draw his fire, get him to stop and take aim."

"Roger."

The RPG gunner stopped and turned toward Giddy's fire; Salem drew a bead and squeezed. Two down and the third one was dropping back and into the closest building to the team's left and out of Benedict's line of travel.

"Go Top now, he's to your left, eleven o-clock and your clear, it's a shit angle he has and as soon as he pokes his head up I'll nab him."

Benedict sent the men forward; two rocket rounds skimmed by them as they sprinted toward the village, then he heard the crack of Salem's fifty and the RPG fire ceased.

The rest was just mop up. Salem entered the village with Rios and set the explosives to detonate the weapons cache. The team secured the few survivors; disabled the three trucks they found and Benedict called for extraction.

That should have been it but once the threat was over Salem was despondent. They piled into the chopper and the young man immediately collapsed in a corner refusing to communicate with anyone, Rios included. When he began coughing up blood the men realized he was injured and Benedict sent the medic to him. Salem fought the man as he tried to remove his tactical vest to check his injuries. Rios and Heckler wrestled him still while the medic hit him with morphine and Giddy tore the Velcro straps open and stripped it off. Once the vest was free Elliot stilled and slumped back against Rios' broad chest panting.

"It's not what you think." He mumbled then passed out.

"What's he talking about?"

"This I think, Top." Giddy said holding the battered vest out.

Benedict took the vest, saw Giddy's discovery and sighed. This Corporal Elliot Salem, this scrawny, wayward, hot headed kid who'd blown into their lives after surviving an experience that would have killed many a more skilled soldier was an enigma that Benedict was slowly giving up hope of ever understanding. Despite his years in the service, despite his tough outer facade First Sergeant Gabe Benedict found himself crying as he ran a calloused thumb back and forth across the nine Ranger tabs carefully sewn into the lining of Elliot's vest over his heart.

Three weeks later Rios stood in Benedict's grungy office along with Colonel Richard Dalton the company commander waiting for Salem to arrive. Since returning from the mission Salem had, for the most part, shut Benedict out and once again walled himself in shunning the team. The discord was causing difficulties for the squad to the point where Colonel Dalton had noticed the tension while watching the men perform a dwelling clearing exercise; prompting the formal meeting. Salem showed up on time, reported perfectly, then stood at attention waiting for his perceived punishment.

Benedict let him wait. The man shuffled Salem's thick file around perusing one page after another, took a phone call, made a phone call, signed a supply request brought in by his aide and went to the bathroom before acknowledging the Corporal. Rios was furious at both himself and Benedict. Seeing Salem treated in such a manner made him recall his own callous welcoming when he'd let Elliot suffer in the blazing sun for nearly an hour before taking him to their quarters.

"You fucked up."

Benedict finally said smugly, leaning back in his chair, and studying the young man. He saw the twitch in the right corner of Salem's lips and chin and the slight furrowing of his brow. He read the fury buried just beneath the surface and part of him hoped Salem would let it loose.

"You think you fucked up and because of that Pedro took a round to his left calf and Dempsey's down with shrapnel from the mortar fire in his ass and thigh. Franklin's got a busted finger or two and a knife slash to his face and let's see I got nipped in the shoulder and Giddy's got a through and through to his outer left bicep. So you, our point man, fucked up right? Led us smack into an ambush right. Oh and your partner there, Rios, I forgot he got tagged too how's that hip doing Tyson, still bruised as hell? Then you fuckin' spit blood and shut us out."

Tyson stood up straighter and glared at Benedict. What the hell was the man trying to do? Incite Salem to violence. The kid had done nothing else but shoot his ass off on the range since they'd returned; trying to get better, as if he could, he was already a superb shot. He'd punished himself enough, isolating himself from the men just when he'd finally been welcomed into their fold. It wasn't as if he had anything to punish himself for anyway. What went down was nobody's fault. All the intell led them to think it was going to be an easy in and out with little resistance. The intell didn't mention foreign mercenaries, ambushes and mortars. They'd expected only bored, poor goat herders willing to make a buck guarding a weapons cache in the middle of nowhere.

"Well?" Benedict said quizzically, picking up Salem's file. "What do you have to say for yourself, Salem? Do you want to kick my old ass for not heeding your warnings? Are you afraid to speak your mind, because I hold your fucking entire life; past, present and future in my hands, Salem?"

Salem blinked but didn't move. Then Benedict launched from his chair, rounded the desk and was in Elliot's face waving the folder around and screaming.

"You go out, you charge MMG's, you hold a position alone, wounded and under fire to cover your men, you have the balls to question my judgment during an op, you defend a group of men who'd done nothing but hate you from PMC's getting your arm broke in the process, yet when it comes down to it and my judgment proves to have been wrong your too fuckin' scared to tell me. You crawl in a hole and hide, Salem. Salem is this what you fear? This god damned ream of paperwork. Did you fuck up out there, Salem? Answer me boy!"

Salem stood stock still staring straight ahead. If nothing else Rios thought he had self- control when he needed too.

"Answer me!"

"No Top. I tried to… I…You didn't listen. I…"

"It's this file, this threat, it's this yoke those sick fuckers have hung around your neck's fault. It keeps you off balance; makes you second guess yourself Corporal and that's exactly what you did in the op. You worried that if you stood your ground I'd pull this pile of horseshit out and send you packing. What hurts me Salem, is not that you didn't see the ambush, no one could have or would have it was beautifully set, but what burns my ass is that you didn't trust me son. That you thought I'd fuck you like that. Punish you by sending you back, sending you away. Never, never again feel afraid to question me or anyone else _reasonably_ when you are concerned during a mission. What went down's on me Corporal. You were my eyes and I refused to believe what they were telling me. I made you into a tool then refused to use it. You have a lighter?"

"Top?"

"A lighter, a cigarette lighter."

"I don't smoke but, yes."

"Give it here."

Salem did and Benedict took it. He turned, retrieved his waist basket and held Salem's file up. He lit the corner and waited for the flames to catch well, then dropped it into the basket.

"You are going to make mistakes, Elliot, you are going to regret decisions, Elliot, but the gravest error you can make is to think that the man you were, the boy you were in that pile of ashes still exists; because he's dead and in his place is a strong, loyal, wonderfully skilled man, a soldier who I am proud to serve with and have absolutely no fear of trusting with my life and the lives of my men. Dismissed."

A few weeks later as the squad geared up for their next patrol, Heckler walked up to Salem as he was loading his ammo pouches.

"Hey, Fifty."

Salem looked up and smiled, he liked the pet name the older man had given him.

"Luck today and keep my ass safe, bro."

Then he reached out and tapped his fist three times firmly over Salem's heart and the coveted Ranger tabs. After him the rest of the team followed suit and from then on out it was squad protocol before any op.

_**Louisiana 2005**_

" Turns out the blood he'd coughed up was from swallowing it due to a badly broken nose. But you see Hunter with Salem it's this mix of tough love, scare tactics and how should I say it, tender nurturing. Without the mix, the message is just lost on him. Be too soft and he mistrusts your intention as taking advantage, too tough and you're an asshole. It's like walking a tight rope. I don't know how else to say it. Benedict knew how to manage him. It was always like scare him, piss him off then douse the flames with kindness. Go figure it works."

"I see and can understand it. Quentin?"

"I agree. He suffered so much abandonment and cruelty, showing naught but disdain for anything else yet all along secretly craving praise and acceptance; all the while scorning those very needs as weakness. It makes sense that a mix of all three grabs his heart. Your Top was a smart man and could read men well."

Rios looked down across the lawn at Salem still swinging idly on the dock.

"Yea, I thought I could too. Thought I knew him. Then the man drops a dead wife and daughter in my lap after nearly twenty years of what, friendship? What we have is a step or two beyond friendship. He's Salem. He's as Top also said 'one pain in the fucking ass walking enigma.' I think I'll go check on him."

"Wait Tyson, let me. I need to break the ice and well why prolong it? I'll step lightly. I promise."


	11. Chapter 11: A Broadening Brotherhood

_**A Broadening Brotherhood**_

_**Somalia April '93**_

"Salem get your scrawny ass in my office now boy!"

Salem looked up from playing cards with Mendelssohn and shrugged.

"What the fuck'd you do now Fifty? Top does not sound pleased."

"Nothing, I never do anything wrong, I'm just one a those guys who just seems to always look guilty."

"Right… and once a week we eat barbecued steak and lobster in front of our giant television because you don't do anything wrong. All these little bonuses just fall in your lap."

"Go figure D-men. I'm all in here anyway, that's the last of it."

Salem tossed fifteen bucks across the small table to D-men and stood up.

"Hey keep it man. You need a few bucks in your pocket, just catch me payday."

"Nah I'll make it up later, if not I can always lick Rios' boots clean for it or something. Salem out."

Salem brushed the crinkles from his uniform and headed down the hallway to Benedict's office. He paused at the door then knocked quietly.

"Enter Salem, fuck son you're late."

Salem went in stood at attention and tried his hardest not to frown. Late, how the hell could he be late? It had taken him all of two minutes to get there. He figured he must be in trouble. Benedict finally looked up and shook his head when he saw the young man all stiff and mannerly.

"What are you doing?"

"Reporting."

"Reporting, reporting, since fucking when do you or anyone else report to me in here alone at attention?"

"Sounded serious, just like to cover my bases First Sergeant."

"First Sergeant…Are you kissing my ass corporal?"

"No First Sergeant, well maybe a little but mostly just being military."

"Stand the fuck at ease, Elliot! God boy you try my patience."

Elliot relaxed and slapped his cap on his head backwards. Top was shuffling papers around and out of the window behind him Salem could see Pedro and Giddy unloading supplies from a truck.

"Salem how tall are you?"

"Five-eleven."

"Five-nine and a half."

"Top?"

"From here on out you are officially five-nine and a half. Slouch if you have to."

"Not for nothing Top but I'm already small and now you want to shrink me?"

"Yea, for your own damn good. See this."

"He handed Salem a grainy black and white photograph taken from a security camera. It showed someone carrying a case of something out of the door of what appeared to be the SSC barracks.

"Ring a bell?"

"Can't say it does, should it?"

Salem handed the picture back making long eye contact with Benedict, his face lit by his typical impish smile. The sergeant held it and tried to read the young man. Salem was a tough nut to crack and Benedict figured he didn't get that way by not learning how to lie his ass off. Since the ambush the young corporal had come a long way with the team and personally. He laughed, played jokes on folks and genuinely seemed to have turned a corner emotionally. The problem was that Benedict was fairly certain that the guy carrying the mystery case was Salem. Between his record prior to coming in the service, the numerous instances of odd acquisitions the squad enjoyed and now, combined with the photo, Salem was in his mind a prime suspect. Benedict could only hope that aside from him and possibly Vickery not too many people knew about Salem's criminal past.

"What's in the case Salem?"

He shrugged maintained eye contact and shook his head.

"No idea."

"Salem there are approximately 250 men on this base. That's including the PMC's. The average height is six foot two. The braincases in surveillance, the ones who gave us the wonderful intell for the ambush raid," He paused, mentioning that fiasco caused a flicker of annoyance in the boy's eyes. "Yea those fucks, well they make out this guy to be about five- ten or eleven.

"I'm five-nine and a half Top, makes me too short."

Benedict was impressed. The boy was certainly a quick study.

"Salem, Salem, Salem yes you are, anyway in an hour Dalton's going to fall the whole kit and caboodle of us in and any man shorter than six foot's getting called out and questioned. The SSC pricks are sick of getting there shit filched…"

"Filched, can't be me, I don't even know what or how to filch, filch Top?"

"Ripped off, filched, stolen. Their new security camera shot this last night, Tuesday around 0200 and we both know you will probably not be one of the lucky bastards with an alibi. At least I know you weren't on any kind of official duty. Am I correct?"

Salem furrowed his brow, took off his cap and scratched his head as he thought back.

"Tuesday, 0200, nope not on duty. I could suggest that I was jogging down the main drive about a hundred and fifty yards in from the main gate and saw Dalton taking his cute local chippy from town back home in a forest green town car, plate number..."

Benedict held up his hand to stop Salem. Very few men knew that Dalton had a 'chippy'. How he got her on and off the base was an even bigger secret. This changed everything. The Sergeant knew he'd never get Salem to fess up, but he'd been pretty certain if the boy toed the line they could get him safely through the coming inquisition and keep him out of trouble. Now it appeared that Salem already had his out.

"How the fuck far ahead do you have this worked out, Salem?"

"What worked out, Top? That's my alibi. Every night, morning, I run from 0100 to 0230, I always wake up just before 0100 like clockwork and rather than just toss and turn thinking of shitty stuff; I put on my head phones, crank up some Iron Maiden and run. I can't help it if the superb observational skills I've acquired through my fine Army training forced me to take note of Colonel Dalton's awkward and potentially career ending, and clandestine affair with a not so entirely, well let's just say upon close examination the chippy is not entirely chippy but a sort of a half chip-her and chip-he. Their, well it is embarrassing. I'd..."

"Stop, just stop it!" Benedict snapped covering his ears with his hands and squeezing his eyes shut. "Don't ask don't tell!"

"Sure, Top; that's my motto too. You think Dalton knows?"

"Stop! Who else knows you run?" Benedict blurted out. "And I swear Salem I don't think I've ever heard you string together so many words at once and quite eloquently too."

"Sorry, I spent a fair amount a time in courts, Top. It's like how they say; to learn a second language you should immerse yourself, well I was immersed in court."

"Who- knows- you- run-Elliot?"

"Major Vickery, Sully, Rios, the M.P.s on the gate, whoever of us has wall duty at that time; I always make sure to say hello. Major V. said tossing's not good, to run or read. Sure reading's fundamental but fuck it's boring as hell, so, me, I run."

"Alright Salem just so long as you have your ass covered. I wouldn't play the Dalton card though unless it's absolutely necessary. I suppose asking you to make sure there's no contraband in your room would be pointless."

"Yup, I have flown the straight and narrow since signing up."

"Yea and Santa Clause fit that fucking T.V. down our fucking chimney. Just watch your ass son. You've got about an hour to tie up any loose ends, dismissed."

Salem headed straight for his room hoping Rios was out somewhere. His biggest fear, though he'd covered that base, was that Franklin would give him up over the T.V. and the other odd items he acquired for the team and draw attention his way; but like Colonel Dalton; Salem had dirt on Sergeant Franklin too. All that he needed was to somehow subtly let that arrogant bastard know he had the dirt before the inspection. Franklin hated not only Elliot but enlisted men in general. He planned to attend Officer Candidate School and like his father and grandfather, rise from the ranks of the enlisted men becoming an officer. The dirt Salem had would destroy that career track quite nicely.

He went in and Rios was sitting at his desk studying the topographical map for their next mission.

"Where've you been, Kermit?"

"With Top, he needed my advice on our rate of march during the final stage of securing next month's first objective. It's a fuckin' fifty klicks haul over shit terrain; I'm saying we camp one night to break it up. Gotta piss."

"What!" Rios squawked shoving his compass aside. "Kermit, you are so full a shit! I've been working that out for hours now."

Salem chuckled wickedly. Rios had unwittingly just bought him the extra time in the bathroom he needed to make their stash of Corona disappear. He stuck his head back out of the door.

"Ok, so I'll shit too, Tubby, chill dude." He shut the door then popped back out grinning impishly. "But hey, since I am so full a shit it just might take a while, you need in here first?"

Rios reached down, grabbed and threw a boot at Salem. The heavy door banged shut just as the missile slammed into it.

"Fucking lunatic, why me god, why me?"

Salem went straight to work. He fished around under the sink cabinet and retrieved a small wrench and a spool of cotton twine. He stood on the toilet, separated the air duct, removed fourteen bottles of Corona from the air conditioning vent and carefully rejoined the metal sections; checking that the dust appeared to be un-marred; then slid the acoustic tile back into place. That done he sat on the closed toilet seat and tied the first bottle to the twine about four and a half feet along, with a slip knot just beneath the cap. He followed that with the second bottle, its top just touching the bottom of the first bottle and continued until all he'd secured all fourteen in a chain. Finally convinced that he'd been 'shitting' long enough he shut off the water valve going to the toilet and flushed it.

After a quick listen at the door he turned on the water faucets in the sink to cover any noise, stuffed a towel into the mostly drained commode tank to sop up any water left behind and knelt in front of the empty bowl. He very carefully dug at the edge of the caulking surrounding the toilet's base, slowly peeling it away in one long piece. When he first began stealing the beer he'd freed and replaced the caulk in preparation for having to use his emergency plan if he had the warning to do so. Then he loosened the four bolts holding the porciline throne down and gently rocked it free of the wax ring taking great care not to ruin the soft seal. Salem set the toilet aside and stood up. He hated to slide the precious bottles down the four inch pipe but that was the safest alternate hiding spot. Undaunted he began to lower the chain of filched beer into the drain pipe.

"What the fuck'r you doing in there Salem! Giddy just knocked and said we all have to fallout in twenty minutes and I need in there before we go. I'd like to piss and wash up. Dalton's wants to inspect us or something."

"Shit." He hissed under his breath. "Ok, ok I'm almost done just washing up myself, 'sides stinks like a bitch in here anyway; let it air a bit."

Salem reached up silently pushed in the lock button on the door and went back to work. One by one the bottles slipped out of site down the drain pipe. Sure they'd be germy but as long as no one downstairs took a dump before he rescued them it wouldn't be so bad. When the final bottle slipped out of sight he took his little Maglite from his belt and double checked that if, and he highly doubted they would, the searchers pulled the toilet and looked nothing would be seen. Finally he secured the end of the string against the side of the old iron pipe as far down as his arm would reach, and just hidden by the joint with a small yet very strong, black magnet he'd stolen from inside a car speaker.

Salem shut off the sink, settled the toilet back onto the bolts, seated it and tightened the nuts carefully, making sure not to scrape away the light rusting, and sparingly, with tiny daubs of caulk, caulked the base. Before the new caulk spots could set he dressed it over with the meticulously salvaged old yellowed string of sealant hiding his work. Happy with the job he removed the towel from the tank, turned the valve back on, flushed to refill it and scrubbed up in the sink making sure to soak his head to seem as though he'd taken the extra time to wash up for the inspection. As a plus he sprayed on a healthy dose of Rios' cologne to cover the smell of the caulk and was ready to give the space over to Rios. To finish up he wrapped the small tube of caulk, the wrench and the twine in the damp towel; shoved both in the trash can under the other trash, opened the window, turned on the exhaust fan and reached for the door knob. Just as he pulled it open Rios pounded on it.

"Bout fucking time, Cinderella, what are you doing with the waste basket?"

"Dumping it?"

"My cologne again too; buy your own asshole, move."

He pushed passed a shrugging Salem and slammed the door shut behind him. Salem hustled out and made his way nonchalantly to the garbage dumpster outside of the barracks next to theirs and tossed the garbage in. Then he continued down the sidewalk and into the supply office, picked up some garbage bags and toilet paper to make it seem as if he was just using the dumpster out of convenience and returned to the room just in time to fall out with the team for the inspection. On the way to the designated area he angled away from Rios and sidled up to Franklin.

"Yo F, any chance a me scoring some a that weed you scab off a that civie working in the chow hall? That shit smells sweet. I'd bet my grandmother's ass it's Chocolate Thai and I know my weed. Only shit I came across, is some fuckin' seaweed bro; like it washed up on a beach some place and baked in the sun. The thing is," Salem elbowed Franklin's left arm and leaned over closer as they walked to whisper in his ear. "I got a hot fuckin' babe lined up for this weekend; found her humping a desk over at Dragon's Breath's offices and I'd be set if you could hook me up with some of that good smoke." Then he pulled away and spoke normally again. "The sea weed's cheap and shitty and sure anything's better than nothing but we're bros right. I don't figure anything primo ever slides through this dump, well unless a man's got some really good connections anyway, and seems you do. So hey I'm asking… set a brother Ranger up."

Franklin stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Salem incredulously.

"What? I'd hit him up myself dude but that's just bad manners."

"Fuck off, Salem. I got no fucking idea what you are talking about!" Franklin hissed shoving the smaller man backwards hard. "I've got no connections, no pot and no idea where to score any, you skinny stupid, fucker."

Salem sighed and shook his head, trying to look disappointed.

"Ok, just thought I check; see you round Wanna-be-gen."

"And stop calling me that. I don't wanna to be a General I just…!"

"Whine and cheese, Wanna, whine and cheese."

Salem joked satisfied he'd made his point; then turning away he jogged lightly to catch up to Rios.

"What was that all about?"

"What, Wanna-Be-Gen? Can you believe he had the audacity to ask if I could score him some weed!"

Rios stopped and looked down at Salem. He was getting better at telling when Elliot lied but not nearly good enough.

"Audacity? Franklin asked _you_ for pot?"

"Go figure, Tyse. I gave the man a big mug and some French Vanilla Latte mix for Christmas and the next thing I know he wants me to score him some dope. I didn't think French Vanilla Latte was a gateway drug. Come on move it, you're making us late again."

Elliot skipped away and Rios stepped off after him shaking his head.

"Audacity, Salem? Fuck that's a four syllable word!"

Salem fell into his regular spot in formation and couldn't help but feel a bit smug. He knew that of all the men he was one of the few aware of what the formation was about. Benedict met his eye and the young corporal simply smiled back calmly and innocently. The SSC men were stacked up in a loose formation in front of and to the left of the Rangers and the Dragon's Breath Armament PMC's were formed up to the right with Vasily Tyannikov in charge.

While he listened to men grumble about having to stand out in the blazing sun Salem watched Tyannikov pace back and forth in front of his men. He knew that SSC had probably pointed the finger at the competing PMC first, figuring they'd be more likely to raid their supplies than the enlisted guys. Tyannikov was a perfectionist though and Salem knew that if one of his guys was nicking the beer the Old Bear would know about it. So by default, in Vasily's mind, that left a Regular Army type to be the probable culprit. As he watched Vasily pace the big Russian stopped and looked his way. Salem made eye contact and smiled.

They'd crossed paths several times since the pool game and Vasily had been nothing but friendly. He'd greet Salem in Russian, addressing him as Little Badger, they'd share a short conversation about the day's weather or events, also in Russian; Elliot taking Vasily's polite corrections humbly, and then part ways. It seemed to Salem that the man found him to be an intriguing puzzle and Elliot, for his part, enjoyed the brief meetings. They were his and his alone and he felt a mix of pride and fear that Tyannikov had chosen to befriend him somewhat, since the DBA men stayed exclusively to themselves. What worried him most were Tyannikov's odd words, after the pool game, about Salem losing someone. If he could read him that well did he also have an inkling that Elliot had taken the Corona? He didn't entirely trust the huge Russian or his men any more than they trusted him so they relationship worked well for all involved. Elliot nodded and flicked a two fingered salute his way, off the bill of his cap just as the Colonel Dalton called the formation to attention, smiling when Vasily returned it.

"Alright, it seems we a thief." Dalton began. "He's been at it for some time and the primary target appears to be SSC's supply room. We have, thanks to newly installed security cameras, a shit photo of this asshole and I intend to find him. We have enough trouble getting along with SSC and DBA and this is not helping. Gentlemen fall your men out and fall them back in, starting on my left with the shortest man and working to my right and back through the ranks to the tallest. Proceed and make it quick it's hot."

Salem fell out, stepped toward the front, took up a place to the far left corner, the squad leader's spot, replacing Rios and waited while the rest of the men shifted around bickering over every quarter inch of height. For him the call was simple. He was, unequivocally the shortest in his squad. Once all the squads had realigned themselves Dalton sent a couple of his lackeys out with a tape measure while he tagged along behind them. Salem watched as the trio worked toward the team inquiring about the men's heights and measuring them. Once they hit the six foot one mark all the soldiers from that man back fell out and took seats on the parade ground bleachers.

Benedict called his squad to attention when Dalton approached them pushing aside his panic. There couldn't be more than fifteen men still standing and their squad was first to last. He said a silent prayer as the group stopped in front of Salem.

"Where'd you drag that beat to shit patrol cap from, Corporal Salem?" Lieutenant Swift snarled.

"Sir, I've worn it through Ranger training, Sniper training and for month trapped behind enemy lines, alone, in Bosnia. It brings me good luck, sir."

"Luck, more like lice, don't let me see it again. First name?"

"Sir, Elliot, Sir."

"Height?"

"Sir, five feet and nine and a half inches, sir."

"Right, Lieutenant Pickering, measure this idiot."

Pickering stepped in and stretched the tape measure out along Salem's slightly hunched spine.

"Five-nine and three quarters."

Lieutenant Swift stared into Salem's steady hazel eyes. There was something about this one that irked him.

"You left off a quarter of an inch, Salem. Were you lying to me?"

"Sir, no sir. I'm young yet. Major Vickery says I'm still growing. Must have shot up a little, sir."

"Right, you have him, Smith?" Swift snapped at the private carrying a clipboard and taking notes.

"Sir, Corporal Elliot Salem, five-foot nine and three quarter inches, unsightly patrol cap, sir."

"Thank you."

He stepped away and looked up at Heckler, the next in line, who was an easy six foot two.

"The rest of you fall out and into the bleachers."

Swift stalked away with Pickering and Smith following; leaving Elliot the sole man standing at attention. Swift had set all the other 'shortys' at ease. Dalton paused and studied him. The good things he heard about Corporal Elliot Salem far out -weighed the bad. The young man was tough as nails, a fantastic shot, highly motivated and uncannily clever. He made up for his size with a brutish toughness fueled by a nasty mean streak. If he could learn to tamp his temper down Dalton knew that Salem would be a gem on any squad.

"Luck's a fine companion Salem, as long as she's tempered with skill, but I'm sure you learned that in Bosnia."

"Sir, yes sir I did, sir."

"Good that's good. At ease then, Elliot and keep wearing the cap. I will deal with that dick face Swift."

"Sir, thank you sir." Salem replied smartly before settling into at ease.

Once the measuring was complete Dalton ordered the remaining eighteen men to form up together, ordered the rest of the battalion to fall back in, put them at ease and took a seat at a small table that Smith had hastily set up. A short time later, Pickering returned with a stack of folders undoubtedly the short men's files. Benedict looked at Rios and shook his head.

"He's gonna hang the kid."

Rios shrugged and looked at Salem standing rigidly at attention.

"Who says he did anything."

"Come on Rios please."

Rios was nervous. Despite his confidence Salem was guilty as sin and the big man knew that there were at least twelve to fifteen beers in their ceiling not to mention the possibility that there might be hand grenades there too. He knew that no matter what went down Salem would not risk getting Rios or any of the other men in trouble just to save his own hide and the thought of Elliot returning to prison terrified him. He watched as Dalton, the SSC commander and Tyannikov thumbed through files. Finally they approached the tiny formation. Dalton called out eleven names and dismissed the men. As the group sifted back into the formation Rios learned that these were soldiers with alibis. That left Salem and three others.

After briefly questioning all but Salem as to their where -abouts Swift dismissed them. Now only Salem stood awaiting his turn.

"Last night, 0145 hours where were you?"

"Sir, I run every night from 0100 to 0230, sir."

"You have an interesting file, soldier."

"Yes sir."

"Burglary, assault, car theft, dealing drugs, manslaughter! You got here out of prison on some program for juvenile delinquents. You fit the description and your alibi is that you run."

"I run sir. Heckler had wall duty last night he saw me, the MP at the gate saw me, I waved at some folks in a hunter green Town Car, heading toward town. I see them often when I run; hell they almost hit me once, they park over at the hotel, plate number…"

"Lieutenant Swift I'll handle this from here." Dalton interjected. "Get your security teams moving to search the rooms of all the short men. I want it done all at once, don't give them time to hide anything."

Swift was irate that Dalton called him off, but he swallowed the anger and stormed away. Dalton ordered all of the men to return to their quarters and remain there until dismissed. The soldiers were not happy with the order but there wasn't anything they could do about it. Salem and Rios made their way amidst the grumbling and griping and once inside Rios slammed the door shut and blew up.

"Tell me this room is clean."

"As a whistle. Just chill bro and open that fucking door back up they'll think I'm trying to hide something."

Rios stared at him slack jawed. He was too calm too 'innocent' too, criminal like.

"You are a criminal aren't you. Born and bred, through and through; Christ Salem, you could get sent back to that prison!"

Salem pushed by Rios and opened up the heavy door. The MP's were coming down the hallway and he was surprised to see Tyannikov in the crowd.

"Just relax Tubby, keep your mouth shut and just chill."

"Corporal Salem."

"Sir."

"Stand aside."

"My pleasure."

"No it's mine; get started guys shred the place. Both of you unlock your lockers."

They went to work. Rios watched in horror as the team knocked out the ceiling tiles, tore apart their bunks, emptied and picked through the contents of their lockers. Then they hit the bathroom and Rios' gut hitched. Salem was talking to Vasily quietly in Russian seeming to care less about the destruction even chuckling at some private joke between them. In the bathroom they tore the ceiling down, tossed the tiles out and beat on the vent. It wasn't until the searchers opened up the toilet tank that Salem seemed to flinch slightly. The MP in charge took note and ordered it torn from the floor while watching Salem's reaction as they peered down the pipe. While that transpired they also opened the sink cabinet and emptied it.

"Clean this pig sty up, Corporal. Benedict will be through to inspect it in an hour."

Then they left.

"Where's the fucking Corona, and what the hell are you talking to that son of a bitch about?"

"The weather and I suggested he offer up their services guarding SSC's supply room. The Corona's safe and sound."

"I watched them beat on the vent."

"Yea, me too; shut the door and lock it, hopefully it hasn't gotten warm yet we need to drink them quick before they decide to check around again."

Rios followed Salem into the bathroom and watched him lean down over the open drain pipe. He cringed when Elliot reached down into it and began pulling up the chain of bottles.

"Here put' em in the tub and wash em off."

Rios took the proffered bottles and leaned over the tub to wash them. Then he put them, as Salem had instructed him to do, back into the vent. It was apparent that Elliot had everything figured out.

"Ok good. Let's start sorting out the good tiles. Was the beer still cold?"

"Yea. I cannot believe you trust Tyannikov."

"Get us a beer. It takes a thief to know a thief. Let's just say he respects my abilities."

"You told him."

"Not in so many words."

The two worked at getting the good tiles into a pile and tossing the broken ones into the garbage bags. Then they crammed everything back into their footlockers and piled the bedding onto the bunks. Benedict showed up and shook his head at the mess.

"Yours is the only room they thrashed like this, sorry fuckers. What do you need to fix it?"

"Just some caulk for the toilet, and a case of ceiling tiles."

"I'll send Giddy for it."

"Thanks."

"Yea, just take the day and get it done. Oh and I saw you talking to Tyannikov. That's good Salem, because Dalton just informed me that in an effort to get us working together, DBA is going out with us next week. It's gonna be you shooting for Vasily and Rios paired with Vasily's shooter, Dmitri.

"No fucking way!" Rios snapped. "After what that son of a bitch did to Salem, you can't put them together!

"Yea way. Orders are orders. They will start working with us tomorrow. Hell better them than those SSC fuck ups. They can't even keep their beer safe. Salem you'll also be our interpreter so study up. I'll send Giddy right away just let him know anything you need."

Later that night after they'd put the room back in order and cheerfully imbibed the evidence, Rios lay on his back in his bunk with Salem slouched against the wall at the bottom on top of his feet.

"You tossed the empties?" The bigger man asked tiredly.

"Oh yea. That fucker Swift's gonna shit a brick when he looks in the back of his truck tomorrow."

"You didn't."

"Nope, you're right I didn't."

"Look, I am not happy about sending you with that fucking Russian, Elliot. I've gotten kind a used to watching your back and damned spoiled about having you watch mine."

"The Old Bear's ok Tyse. ' Sides he's an old hand I'll be learning stuff. Dmitri too, he's been at this shit for a while so you'll learn stuff. His English is so- so but you'll manage. These guys are tough as nails Tyse so if it does get shitty we'll be in good company. Fuck bro, first platoon's stuck with SSC; they are fucked."

"Ellie, he broke your wrist."

"Right and you greeted me with open fucking arms asshole. That was just a bad night. I'm curious to see what I can learn from him."

Rios slid down under his blankets disrupting Elliot's spot, rolled onto his right side and pulled his legs up slightly. Salem grumbled, got comfortable again and sighed.

"Stop wiggling you're messing my spot up." Elliot slurred sleepily.

"Salem you have a bunk."

When he got no response Rios looked over at Elliot, saw that he'd knocked out, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep as well.


End file.
